Phoenix Insurgent
by BolshevikMuppet99
Summary: Ousted from Hogwarts by a gang of corrupt, incompetent officials, Albus comes to the understanding that Voldemort is not his only enemy. Now, fighting on two fronts against the Ministry and Voldemort, he finds himself in dire need of an ally. One who, like him, is a wizard of uncommon power and skill. Canon Departure from OotP. Gen.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Obviously, I own none of this.**

**Betad by the amazing moomoogoat.**

**Please read and review.**

**Enjoy!**

"_'Where will you go, Dumbledore?' whispered Professor McGonagall. 'Grimmauld Place?'_

_'Oh no,' said Dumbledore, with a grim smile, 'I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he'd never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you.'"_—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, chapter 27.

* * *

Chapter 1

Like a sleeping dog at its master's approach, the little cottage seemed to wake up as he entered.

The candles started to burn in their cups as he walked through the door, the fine layer of dust on all the surfaces vanishing.

The vines that he had carefully trellised up an entire wall seemed to grow brighter with his presence, the small flowers amongst the creepers suddenly becoming vibrant and vivid.

He dropped heavily into the armchair in the centre of the room, his eyes wandering around his haven.

It was a simple place, nothing more than a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom, located in a lovely meadow in the British countryside.

The only furniture in the sitting room besides for his armchair was a small table and a bookshelf and cupboard.

It was not home. Hogwarts was his home.

It was simply a place for him to go when he felt he needed the privacy, when his mind became too burdened by responsibility and he needed a change of scenery to clear it.

And now he had been banished there.

He stared at the vines without seeing them, feeling more enraged than he had in decades.

"They think to arrest me?" He muttered, one of the glass candleholders exploding and punctuating his words with a pop.

Once upon a time, cities would have been laid to waste if a wizard of his power had been offered such an insult.

He could not even blame Harry for his brash foolishness. That was who the boy was.

Had he been any different, Albus wouldn't care for him quite as much as he did.

No, Harry had been foolish, but he was blameless.

Fudge and the Ministry, on the other hand…

The vines began to shrivel up under his gaze.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and thinking of nothing in particular.

When he opened them again, a few minutes later, the burning rage was still there.

The Elder Wand vibrated gently in his hand, begging to be used.

The chair creaked as he rocked, making an eerie and somehow fitting harmony to Fawkes' song.

"I chose to lead by example," he whispered, "I chose to use careful and logical discussions to make a difference. I did not force them to make the right choices."

He breathed deeply, whispering as he often did in such times, the reasons for his decision.

"Greater intelligence does not make my moral compass unflawed. Power corrupts. If I force them to do good they will merely rebel, or abandon my orders once I am dead. They should not be making the right choice because Albus Dumbledore tells them to."

'_Is it not better for them to at least be making the right choice, regardless of their motivations?'_

He ignored the Wand's siren song, brushing it aside as neatly as he had the dying leaves before him.

"I could have taken complete control. I chose not to. Corruption is human nature. I am as susceptible to it as Fudge is."

His voice went cold at the mention of the Minister's name, one of the silver candlesticks groaning and twisting itself into a circle.

"Have I not demonstrated, time and time again, that I have no interest in his position? What have I done other than assist him, other than answer his every letter begging for guidance? Who was it who the world turned to when Gellert threatened all?"

The Wand shook even harder, memories of that terrible, glorious day flooding his mind.

He could still hear the faint screams in the distance, could still smell the smoke.

He could still see Gellert's smirk as he'd approached, so certain that the Elder Wand would defeat even a superior opponent.

And he could still see the mounds of corpses, the innocents whose lives his hesitation had claimed.

He shook his head, turning away from his memory before he could feel that moment when the Elder Wand had gained a new master.

He'd taken the Wand and fought off its bloodthirst, choosing to send Gellert to Nurmengard instead of simply ending him.

Since that fateful day, he'd shied away from the power he so easily could have taken. He'd turned down the post of Minister more times than he could count and had only accepted Supreme Mugwumpship after making it clear that it would be a mere ceremonial position. He'd never used his executive privilege as Chief Warlock, only accepting the position to keep it out of the hands of less trustworthy individuals.

He'd known since the end of his childhood that he could not be trusted with absolute power. The Wand's whispers had only cemented his decision.

"It was I who kept their children safe," he said, "I who made Hogwarts a place Voldemort never dared attack, I who prevented Voldemort from advancing beyond our borders. I who gave them the freedom to deride me. I who faced opposition in my every attempt at bringing equality to our world."

He'd worked within the system, never once simply forcing the incompetent to bend to his will no matter how infuriating their stupidity had been. The closest he'd come had been his attempts at changing the werewolf laws, and even there he had eventually allowed the wheels of bureaucracy to turn, allowed it to go to a public vote where it had been shot down.

Another two candles went out, darkness beginning to spread within the little hut even though the sun still shone in the meadow.

"I tried to create rehabilitation programs for Death Eater," he said, "I pushed to remove the Dementors from Azkaban. And still they despise me, still they mistake my kindness for weakness."

The final two candles flickered, casting long shadows that crept across the dirt floor.

"Throughout the millennia," he said, his voice shaking with barely-comprised fury, the vines on the wall now falling to the ground as dust, "a wizard of my stature would have simply forced them to obey. I have had countless opportunities to wrest control of this ungrateful nation, and never once have I even seriously contemplated doing so.

And what do I get in return?"

He jumped to his feet, the walls shaking with the power of his voice even though it was no louder than it had been.

"Cast out of my home," he snarled, "derided and ignored even as I seek to save them. Hated and branded an insane criminal."

His fingers tightened around his wand, golden sparks flickering from the tip.

"Vermin sent to _my_ school, to torment the children under _my_ protection, while the Death Eaters whose very lives I spared whisper poison in the Ministry."

"They have forgotten who I am," he whispered, raising the wand to eye-level, "they see my kindly actions, my attempts to make this world a better place, and they think me a fool. All I have ever wanted was to help them make the right decisions. All I have ever wanted was to brighten up all our lives."

'_Your methods have failed. They will not listen to reason. They are like infants, like animals who understand nothing but force. It is time to try something different.' _

He stared at the wand, remembering the piles of bodies in Gellert's wake, the millions of deaths his opposition to seeking power had caused.

"Greater intelligence does not make my moral compass unflawed. Power corrupts. If I force them to do good they will merely rebel, or abandon my orders once I am dead. They should not be making the right choice because Albus Dumbledore tells them to."

'_Comfortable excuses to keep from doing what is necessary. Comforting lies to sway your hand from action. You could do it. You could change the world. You could end the war, you could end the corruption and incompetence that so plagued this nation. You could usher in a new era of enlightenment.'_

The wand seemed to fill up the world, the promises of power that would be his for the taking, the joyous possibilities of the change he could bring.

"It-it wouldn't be right. That choice is not mine to make. It shouldn't be."

'_When no-one else is making it, the choice is yours. You are the only one who can do it. All your dreams can come true. You just have to make them happen.'_

He closed his eyes, seeing Harry's face in his mind. The loneliness and fear, the heartache and worry.

All inspired by the Ministry's careful treatment of him, all done to destroy a child he cared for.

'_They chase you away from those who need you most, and you think of still acting peacefully? They have declared war on you while paving the way for Voldemort's coup. They will destroy everything you have worked so hard to accomplish and set Wizarding Britain back hundreds of years. If you allow it.'_

"No," he said, as calmly as ever he'd spoken, "no. It will not be borne. I will stand for it no longer. No."

He stared at the now barren wall, the path before him clearer than it had been for decades.

"But I cannot do it alone. The Ministry would be difficult enough at the best of times, as would Voldemort."

He dropped back onto his armchair, possibilities flickering through his mind at lightning speed.

The Order were already near the end of their rope. They were few in number, and though they were brave and loyal, actually declaring war on the Ministry might prove beyond their capabilities.

Besides, most of them would surely prove far more useful if their connection to him remained unknown.

"And most of them would not manage combat, not against the Ministry's forces."

"Alastor, perhaps," he mused, "he could certainly survive a fight. He also does not have the familial bonds so many of the others do. Yes, he could do well. But…"

Well, Alastor was certainly a powerful, talented wizard and a wonderful ally, but he was only one man. While Albus knew that Alastor could hold his own against perhaps three or four enemies, he was also certain that the forces ranged against them would be greater than that.

Of course, Hagrid would fight as well, and Sirius could probably be relied upon. But it was not enough.

"What I need," he murmured, "is someone like me. Someone who can inspire terror in the enemy, someone who could face down a small army. I need someone like me."

He shook his head slowly, restlessly tapping the Elder Wand against his knee.

"There isn't. There-"

He looked down at the wand, his eyes widening.

_That _could work. If there was anyone who fit the bill, it was _him_.

"But dare I trust him? Dare I trust myself with him?"

He rocked on the chair, closing his eyes and thinking, analysing his idea from all directions.

For hours he sat like that, following the threads of possibility in his mind, picking apart his options and placing them back together.

By the time he opened his eyes again, the sun had set.

He nodded once and stood up, twirling the wand through his fingers.

"I cannot do this alone," he said. "I need his help."

He rose to his full height, the wand settling back into his grip, his cloak flying off of its hook and wrapping itself around him.

"If Fudge desires my enmity, he shall have his wish."

The final candle was snuffed out as he opened the door, whistling for Fawkes.

It was time to pay an old friend a visit.

* * *

The ground around his prison shook again, making Gellert scowl as he dropped the paper.

He cursed the stupid building as he picked the newspaper up again, wiping the dust off of it and settling back to his reading.

The smiling picture of his old…friend greeted him, waving out of the page.

He just continued to scowl, re-reading the headline.

_**Head case of a Headmaster on the run!**_

He snorted, staring at it for a moment and shaking his head.

As he let his eyes drop to the article itself, some sixth sense made him look up.

There was no warning, no sound or sight or smell to precede it.

His cell's wall simply _exploded_, the flying stones and bits of cement coming within an inch of his face before veering away.

Albus Dumbledore walked into Gellert's cell, stepping off of empty air as if there had been a solid platform.

Gellert's knees went weak as he took in Dumbledore's appearance.

Dumbledore radiated might, the lines on his face exuding power and skill.

Old though he was, his body showed no signs of the weakness that had begun to attack Gellert.

He looked like nothing if not a warrior of legend, the setting of his jaw promising pain to any who dared interfere with his mission.

His eyes were as piercing as Gellert remembered them, twin sapphires of the purest icy blue.

Gellert's old wand rested comfortably in his hand.

The Phoenix perched on his shoulder seemed to bathe his face in ghostly flames.

And he had the exact same sense about him that had once led Gellert to abandon his plans, if only for a summer.

Being in his presence was as enthralling, as exhilarating as it had been all those years ago.

His heart began to beat faster, excitement filling him.

"Had I known you were coming," Gellert said, finally recovering, "I'd have made tea."

Albus said nothing, simply standing there with the wand in his hand.

"Are you here to kill me?" Gellert asked. "To prove to yourself that you can still handle a dark wizard?"

Albus just sat, flicking his wand and making an armchair appear below him an instant before he would have fallen onto his backside.

"Flashy," Gellert said, shifting uneasily in his hard wooden seat, "flashy and gauche and exactly like you."

Albus said not a word, the Phoenix moved not an inch.

"Why are you here?" Gellert demanded, suddenly feeling annoyed beyond reason, "have you come for a purpose or just to torment me with your eyes? Say something, damnit!"

He stared at Gellert for a long moment, before saying three words.

"You were right."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gellert goggled at Albus, certain he had misheard.

There was no way, no way at all that Albus had just said that. No chance.

Albus smiled slightly at his confusion, nodding his head an inch.

"You were right," he repeated.

Gellert shook his head, his unkempt hair flying every which way.

"They tell me I wasn't," he said, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage, "you told me I wasn't. Hundreds of times, in your letters. That was, in fact, the largest part of your communication, telling me how wrong I was."

"Gellert-"Albus started, raising a hand.

He was on his feet in an instant, his hands curling into fists.

"You come here after fifty years and tell me that I was right? You wait until I can barely sleep because of the visions of the dead, and then you waltz in here and tell me I was right? How dare you?"

"Gellert-"

"Seventy million dead, Albus. That is all my brilliance led to. Yes, Europe would have erupted without me. Yes, the Germans would have embarked on their madness without me. But without me, the scale would have been far less, without my genius, they would never-"

"Everything you did with the Muggle world was an atrocious abomination," Albus agreed with a calm nod, "you should never have involved yourself in their affairs, not the way you did. But the Wizarding World…the Wizarding World has proven it is not ready for democracy."

The wind quite taken out of his sails, Gellert sat heavily back onto his stool.

"Taking their treatment quite harshly, are you?" He asked with a wild laugh.

"Enough is enough," Albus said, his voice ringing with quiet strength.

The Phoenix stretches its wings, leaping off of Albus' shoulder and soaring through the hole in the wall.

"Oh, Albus. You should see yourself now. All inflated with righteous anger, so willing to cast aside your morals. What was it you said…?"

Suddenly, Gellert was on his feet, jumping over to the haphazard piles of worn books lying near his bed.

"Where is it," he muttered, pawing through the tomes, "where did I-Aha!"

His back gave a click as he straightened up with a yellowing parchment clutched in his hand. He waved it triumphantly, baring his brown teeth in an ape-like grin.

"December 1971," he said, "before I started believing you about my mistakes. Your words, Albus."

He began to read in an exaggerated mockery of Albus' tone.

"Your mistake, my friend, and mine as well in our time together, was believing that we have the right to make decisions for our fellow residents of this world. We may be more powerful and more intelligent, but our choices can be just as incorrect as anyone else's. We have no more right to choose for others than they do to choose for us. Democracy, Gellert, democracy is the answer. The people must speak for themselves, they must not become mere slaves to the whims of those gifted by chance."

He looked up at Albus, his eyes narrowing.

"So, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, Headmaster of Hogwarts and whatever else you claim as a title. The people have spoken. They have cast you aside, and you should have the good grace to accept their decision."

"They are fools," Albus said bluntly, "Corrupt fools who prefer lining their pockets to dealing with Voldemort while there still is time."

Gellert waved a careless hand, pacing in front of his bed.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. You don't get to decide now that I was right. You don't get to do so."

"If the Ministry continues ignoring Voldemort-"

"Forget about your miserable Voldemort!" Gellert shouted, his eyes bulging, "if you would have stood by me-"

"There would have been no one to stop us. The death toll would have been in the hundreds of millions."

"Maybe you could have prevented my more inhumane decisions!"

"Or maybe I would have sunk to a level far beyond yours."

"You could have stopped me! You could have stopped me earlier! Why didn't you?"

Gellert dropped onto his bed with a thud, his hands rising to cover his face as he began to shake with pent-up sobs.

"Millions...millions! I see them...I hear them, they weep in the night...you could have stopped it! You left me to ruin myself, to ruin Europe, and you left me to it!"

"I should have come earlier. But I was afraid."

"Not like you to be afraid of death. I never was. But now, now I-I know, I know what is waiting for me, the dead are patient, I know that-"

"It wasn't death I was afraid of. It was victory. Victory and knowledge."

Gellert looked up sharply, his eyes focusing on the wand in Albus' hand.

"Ah. That. You thought-you thought you would beat me, and that you would be propelled into rule. Knowledge…"

He trailed off, searching Albus' face for a hint, any hint of what he meant.

His eyes widened as he understood, and he began to laugh again.

"You...you thought...Ariana, you thought I knew…"

"I take it you do not."

"Albus," He said, wiping his eyes, "Ariana was one girl. Even if I ever knew, the millions on my conscience have erased even her face. I can barely even recall any individual deaths…"

His eyes unfocused for a moment, turning misty in remembrance.

"So many, they all blur into each other...one after another after another…"

He shook his head, focusing on Dumbledore.

"So, Voldemort has truly returned. You are not a senile, deluded madman set on destroying Britain."

"I am neither senile nor deluded. Voldemort has regained a body. Flesh of his servant, bone of his father, blood of his enemy."

"Interesting," Gellert muttered, "Very interesting. That could...yes, I could see how that could work."

He looked up again, catching Albus' eye. "And your little militia?"

"I have reformed the Order of the Phoenix. But with the Ministry denying Voldemort's return and vilifying me, anyone seen to be supporting me is automatically suspect. And of course, I am now a wanted criminal."

He tapped his finger against his lip thoughtfully. "Quite a few of us are, actually. It's rather amusing, in a terrible way."

"And what do you want with me?"

"With you?" Albus smiled, "why, I want your help, of course."

"No."

"Why not? Come now, Gellert. You get to help kill an immortal dark wizard and rehabilitate a dysfunctional society."

Albus winked. "I'm quite certain you'll even have opportunities for murder and torture. I would have thought you'd be jumping for joy."

"No. I-just leave me to my punishment. It's what I deserve."

"What you deserve," Albus said, "is to help make amends. Help me destroy Voldemort, help me fix up Britain. And then you can return to your lonely cell."

"Do you not understand?" He snarled, "I still want to do all of that. But I-I cannot. I cannot trust myself. I never planned, in the beginning, to do half the things I ended up doing. I never wanted to. But I did. I cannot trust myself. I cannot trust myself not to damn myself more than I already am."

"Do you remember the day by the lake?" Albus asked, "I don't think we'd met more than two weeks before then. Do you remember it?"

"Of course I do."

"I said that we would be damning ourselves if we carried out your plans. Do you remember your reply?"

"Albus-"

"You said that better for two to destroy themselves than for an entire world to do so."

"And I was a fool. A naive, arrogant fool. I did not know-"

"Come now, Gellert. Just join me. Together, we can save the world from itself."

"One would think you'd walked in here through the front, the way you're talking. Für das großere wohl, is that it Albus?"

Albus just inclined his head slightly.

"What makes you think I won't turn on you the first chance I get? What makes you think I won't claim the wand back from you?"

Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, mostly because I know you. Knew you, I should say."

"If you are talking in the biblical sense, you will find that it was mostly I who-"

"Betrayal in an underhanded fashion, that isn't you," Albus continued serenely, "oh, you might challenge me to a duel if our relationship would devolve, but you are not one to slit my throat while I sleep. As if you would even get the chance."

"You know me many, many years ago," Gellert whispered, "a lifetime ago."

"I know you well enough to be certain of this: you would not betray me, not when I offer you a chance to make real, lasting change."

"The last time I tried-"

"You were driven by pure intentions, but you were quickly twisted. I will not allow that to happen this time."

Gellert shook his head, clasping his hands together to keep their excited shaking hidden.

"It-we cannot be trusted with such power. What makes you think that you will not be twisted just as I was?"

Albus raised his wand in answer, holding it horizontally.

"I have carried this for fifty-one years," he said, "and still, I have ignored its every whisper. It is not the same, I know, but I am practised at rising above my baser desires."

A flash of crimson-gold disturbed the air and a fiery feather appeared, dropping neatly into Albus' outstretched hand.

"Ah," He said, "it would seem the guards have noticed the gaping hole in their utterly secure prison. They must be making their way up the stairs now. What say you, Gellert?"

The old thrill of an approaching fight filled him, the joyous fire beginning to make his blood boil.

He started stretching his hand out toward Albus' and hesitated, the screams of the dying echoing momentarily in his ears.

"I know you want to," Albus said, "I know you long for it. And this time, Gellert, you truly will be in the right."

Gellert took his hand.

He felt the magic swirling around him as Albus waved his wand, slicing neatly through all the enchantments that bound him to this cell.

And then he felt free, freer than he had been for decades.

"Where's the Phoenix?" He asked, "If it takes much longer to remove us from here, the guards will arrive."

"Fawkes will be here in his own time," Albus said, looking supremely unconcerned, his hand warm in Gellert's. "And it will be good for the guards to arrive. You need a wand."

"They will see you."

Albus quirked an eyebrow.

"I know."

They stood like that for a few minutes, facing the door with hands clasped, Albus looking as relaxed and confident as he had just before they'd duelled, all those years ago.

Slowly, the voices began to filter in from outside the cell door, out-of-breath shouts and curses as the guards drew near.

"Stand back," Albus said, releasing his hand.

"I'm perfectly fine where I am," Gellert snapped.

"Of course you are. Oh, I believe I forgot to mention. When I said Voldemort is immortal, I wasn't being glib. I'm not yet certain how many, but I know he has made Horcruxes. Several of them."

Some of his distaste must have shown on his face because Albus laughed.

It sounded as joyous and full of life as it always had in his memories.

"Fun, isn't it?"

The door burst open. The guards had arrived.

* * *

Harry scowled at his plate of eggs, cutting them into far smaller pieces than was strictly necessary.

Umbridge, it seemed, was doing whatever she could to make Hogwarts a living hell for him. One by one, she was taking everything he cared about from him.

No Quidditch, no DA, no communications with Sirius, no Dumbledore.

He was half-convinced that she would try and split Ron and Hermione away from him, if only to increase his misery.

At least Dumbledore had made it out all right, after promising to explain everything. When exactly that mysterious time for explanations would come, Harry didn't know, but something about the way Dumbledore had promised made him feel sure that it wouldn't be too much longer.

Next to him, Hermione and Ron were angrily talking about Marietta. Ron was far more vocal, but he could still hear the rage lurking under Hermione's voice.

He didn't join in, sure that if he even started thinking too much about the traitor he would be shouting.

Further down the table, he could hear Seamus whispering to Lavender that Fudge had been taken to St Mungo's after Dumbledore was through with him.

He snorted around a mouthful of eggs, wishing that something as incredible as that had happened.

He allowed his mind to wander for a few minutes, thinking about what Fudge would have looked like if he really had been left with a pumpkin for a head, as he'd heard someone claim.

It was better than thinking about that feeling he'd had when Dumbledore had spoken to him, that snakelike urge to bite into the elderly wizard.

'_If Voldemort isn't possessing me,' _he thought, _'then what is it?_

He glanced up at the head table without thinking, so used to looking to Dumbledore when he had problems.

Umbridge was sitting in Dumbledore's seat.

She caught Harry's eye and smiled widely, her jowls shivering.

A burning fury shot through him, a sudden image filling his mind of him running up to that-that thing and just punching her, wiping the horrific frog-like grin from her face.

His seething rage settled like acid in his belly, his hands curling into fists around his knife and fork.

He couldn't think of anyone, in that moment, who he hated more than Umbridge. Not Malfoy, not Snape, not even Wormtail or Voldemort.

He stared back at her with a clenched jaw, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing how upset she'd made him.

An enormous flurry of wings broke his gaze as dozens of owls bearing copies of the Daily Prophet came flooding through the hall.

He looked back at his plate, forcing himself to eat even though the food seemed to have no taste.

A loud murmur of excited conversation suddenly filled the hall.

He heard Ron exclaim something that would have made Mrs Weasley wash his mouth out with soap.

Ron was looking down at Hermione's copy of the Prophet with a look of horrified fascination. Hermione herself was just staring at it with wide eyes, not even bothering to chide Ron for his language.

All around the hall, everyone who had received a newspaper was staring at it in shock.

Harry scooted closer and looked.

_**FUGITIVE HEADMASTER FREES INFAMOUS FOE! **_

_**In the early hours of this morning, Nurmengard prison (see page 4) was broken into for the first time in history, resulting in its deadliest captive being released. **_

_**Gellert Grindelwald, one of the most feared Dark Wizards of all time, escaped, leaving over a dozen guards and Aurors unconscious in his wake.  
**_

_**The Daily Prophet can confirm that Albus Dumbledore, former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts, was involved in this escape. **_

The article continued for several pages, describing Grindelwald's crimes and the duel in which Dumbledore had defeated him, and wondering at length why Dumbledore had released him.

Harry got halfway through the article before he looked up, a grim smile trying to break out on his face.

Everyone at the head table was engrossed in the article. McGonagall looked like she had swallowed a brick, Snape's face was an odd shade of puce, Flitwick was staring at the paper without moving an inch, and Sprout looked like she was going to vomit.

And Umbridge…Umbridge had gone white as snow, her eyes wide with fear, her hand shaking so badly that pumpkin juice sloshed over the side of her goblet.

Harry laughed until he cried.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Just tell us what's going on, Albus," the ghostlike lynx said, speaking in Kingsley Shacklebolt's cool, collected voice.

Its message completed, the lynx waited for a moment before dissipating into silvery mist.

Almost as soon as it had vanished, another Patronus walked through the wall.

The tabby cat examined Albus for a moment before opening its mouth.

"I want an explanation," it said, Minerva's voice clipped and furious, "I deserve an explanation. Tell me what in the world you think you're doing."

Albus sighed as the ethereal cat faded away.

"Rather insistent, aren't they?"

He nodded, leaning back in his chair, his eyes half-closed in thought.

Gellert walked in from the bedroom, twirling his new wand through his fingers like a baton.

The last three days of freedom had been good for him, Albus had to admit.

He looked human now, his hair cut short and his beard trimmed down to stubble.

He was still far too emaciated, but Albus was certain the nutritional potions would eventually do their work. After all, the man had been locked up for fifty years, and the Nurmengard wardens hadn't been too concerned about giving their prisoners healthy food.

Still, freedom itself had been good for him. After only three days, his face had already regained the shine that Albus remembered.

It would take far longer for the mental toll of imprisonment to fade. Gellert had spent half of the time since being released aimlessly wandering the meadow outside Albus' cottage, staring at the great expanse of sky.

And Albus had heard him weeping in the night.

Well, he had plenty to weep for.

'_I will not fall into the same trap as him,' _he told himself, _'I will not.'_

"I am going to call a meeting of the Order for tonight," he said, "I will introduce you to them then."

"And how do you expect they will react to me?"

"Some of them worse than others," Albus said, an image of Alastor's magical eye appearing in his mind, "but none of them will attack you. Not physically, at least. Be prepared for insults."

"You sounds as if I'm used to anything else," he said, "ever since I stopped replying, my followers and idolizers gave up on pestering me with their mail."

Albus nodded, reaching out and stroking Fawkes' tail feathers.

The Phoenix awoke with a soft squawk, turning its head and focusing its beady eyes.

"I will return shortly," he said, "after that, I will send Fawkes out to call the meeting."

"You said you would take me with," Gellert said in an accusatory tone, "you said I would come with to meet your friend."

"Oh, you will. But before we visit Horace, I must revisit my office."

"And I-"

"It is not yet the time for us to march into Hogwarts. Now is the time for stealth, sneakiness, and secretive speed."

"You left out silence," Gellert said.

"So I did. I will be back, Gellert. Before you even know that I am gone."

There was a flash of golden fire, and Albus and the Phoenix were gone.

* * *

"All I want," Harry said, leaning back in the chair, "is to know what's going on."

"Join the club," muttered Ron, looking around the Common Room, "no one knows what's happening."

Hermione just continued to stare into space, biting her lip obviously deep in thought.

Harry has been sure, after reading the news about Grindelwald, that something was going to happen. Something big.

It was a feeling shared by pretty much everyone in the castle.

Most of the teachers had a sense to them like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop, giving their lessons perfunctorily with their minds clearly elsewhere.

Snape had even been almost civil to Harry in Potions the day before as if he was too occupied to act with his usual meanness.

Watching Umbridge, however, was the most entertaining of all.

She'd become extremely unnerved since the news, flinching and wincing at any sudden movement or loud noise.

Many students had, of course, taken advantage of it, leading to her assigning detentions to anyone who startled her.

Harry had tested it out earlier that day, and she'd raised her wand at him in panic after he knocked his knee against his desk.

In fact, Harry thought that she would have actually cursed him if Parvati hadn't chosen that moment to give a high-pitched scream, making Umbridge spin around with a squeak and drop her wand.

Even though Harry said it was an accident and Parvati claimed there'd been a spider on her hand, they'd each lost Gryffindor fifty points and earned detention.

Frankly, Harry couldn't care. A detention would just give him more opportunities to put her on edge.

As fun as messing with Umbridge was, Dumbledore's freeing of Grindelwald had one major bad side effect.

It seemed like everyone who hadn't been sure whether or not Harry and Dumbledore were lying about Voldemort had made up their minds.

If Dumbledore wasn't just trying to destabilize the Ministry, they said, why had he broken a genocidal dark wizard out of prison?

If Harry hadn't seen Voldemort return to his body, he might have thought just like them. If he hadn't witnessed Voldemort's rebirth or if he hadn't been given reason after reason over the years to trust Dumbledore, he might have thought the Ministry was right.

'_Dumbledore hasn't been giving you much reason to trust him lately,' _a little, sour voice whispered in his thoughts, _'he's barely even looked at you this year.'_

'_He's got his reasons,' _he told himself stubbornly, _'maybe Voldemort's not possessing me, but there's something going on. And he said he'd tell me everything soon.'_

"Maybe," Ron said conspiratorially, "maybe Grindelwald was actually innocent."

That idea cut through Hermione's trance.

She blinked a few times, focusing on Ron with a McGonagall-like expression.

"That has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"No," Ron huffed, "Listen. Everyone thought Snuffles was guilty, right? We didn't know-"

"Grindelwald confessed to everything," Hermione interrupted, "proudly. His name was on hundreds of documents, he'd made many public appearances, and he gave speeches talking about his goals. Dumbledore himself captured him, and then left him in the prison he built for fifty years. He's not innocent, Ron. Not even nearly."

"So why'd Dumbledore break him out, then?"

"I have no idea," Hermione confessed,

"It doesn't make any sense. Grindelwald is a really powerful wizard. No one managed to beat him until Dumbledore, and even then it was supposedly a close call. I don't know why Dumbledore would give himself another enemy. You'd think Voldemort—for heaven's sake, Ron, it's just a name—you'd think Voldemort would be enough to deal with."

"Voldemort isn't all Dumbledore needs to deal with," Harry said suddenly, "he's got the Ministry on his back too."

"No way," Ron said in a hushed voice, "you don't think he freed Grindelwald just to hassle the Ministry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "I do. You didn't see him in the office, he told McGonagall that the Ministry would regret kicking him out of Hogwarts. How bad could Grindelwald be anyway?"

From Ron and Hermione's disbelieving expressions, Grindelwald could be pretty bad.

Apparently, this was another one of those things that could only be fully understood by someone who'd been raised in a magical family or had tried to swallow the library whole. Not for the first time, Harry cursed the Dursleys for raising him with no connection to the Wizarding World, forcing him to miss out on so much general knowledge everyone else took for granted.

"Didn't you read the Prophet's article on him?" Hermione asked in a more high-pitched voice than usual.

"C'mon, Hermione, after what they've written about me, you can't think I'd believe anything they say."

"He was bad," Ron said, "everyone forgot about him because of You-Know-Who, but my uncle Bilius used to tell us stories. He'd have taken over all of Europe if Dumbledore hadn't stopped him."

"He wanted to take over the world," Hermione whispered, "and he was getting there. He was working with the Nazis, that's how they lasted so long. Harry, he killed and tortured tens of thousands. He wanted to tear down the Statute of Secrecy and-and rule over muggles, make them into slaves. _And he would have managed it!_"

"How come Dumbledore freed him then?" Harry asked, sitting up sharply, "if he was really that bad, why'd Dumbledore let him out? Why's Dumbledore working with him?"

"Maybe he's just lost his mind completely."

"Or maybe," Hermione said slowly, "he's got some way of keeping him on a leash. Maybe he thinks he can control him, use him against Voldemort and the Ministry. He is meant to be one of the most powerful wizards in the world…"

* * *

While Harry, Ron, and Hermione were discussing him, Gellert Grindelwald was standing on a street corner in a quaint Welsh village, spinning around on the balls of his feet with his arms outstretched.

"Gellert," Albus said sharply, not taking his eyes off of the house he was facing, "did I not say I wanted to avoid undue attention?"

"It's your own fault," Gellert replied, not pausing his whirling, "you took the binding spells off of me. You know, they made it so that the air around me was thicker."

"I do know. If you recall, I was consulted to help keep you contained."

"Then it's even more your fault. You can't blame me for enjoying my full range of motion."

"If I didn't know that you were always like this, I'd have assumed your imprisonment drove you mad. Enjoy your freedom later, Gellert. We have work to do."

Scowling, Gellert came to a stop, drawing his wand as he walked up the path to stand facing the door beside Albus.

"He is home," Albus said, "and he's the only one."

With no more warning than that, Albus flicked his wand toward the house and walked forward.

The door opened at his approach, and Gellert quickly followed Dumbledore through the entrance hall, pausing as he entered the living room with his lip curling.

It looked remarkably like a magpie's nest, full of shiny objects that glittered and tried to attract his attention.

A large grand piano stood as the centrepiece of the sitting room, covered in framed photographs and minuscule geegaws. The room itself was stuffed near to bursting with dozens of couches, armchairs, and small cushioned stools. Every available surface was dotted with photographs, framed newspaper clippings, and what appeared to be random snacks.

"Horace?" Albus called, taking a seat in the nearest armchair and gesturing for Gellert to do the same.

Gellert ignored Dumbledore's motion and continued to stand next to his chair, tapping his wand against his thigh and listening to the approaching footsteps.

"Albus?" A voice called, and a moment later its owner walked into the room.

An extremely fat man, he looked to be no taller than Gellert's chest, with a shiny pate and a thick, walrus moustache.

Gellert immediately mistrusted him. The man looked soft and harmless, but he held his wand like he knew to use it, and his eyes spoke of danger.

He stopped in his tracks as he entered, his face paling and his eyes flickering between Albus and Gellert, his wrist going white as his fingers tightened around his wand.

"Hello, Horace," Albus said politely, "take a seat, would you?"

He walked slowly to one of the couches, saying not a word, his Adam's apple rising and falling.

"Al-Albus," He said finally, "what a-a pleasant surprise."

"I'm sure. I assume you know Gellert?"

The man nodded, his chins shaking enough to make Gellert almost feel seasick.

"Albus, I don't know what-why-but I assure you, I would never join-would never join He Who Must Not Be Named."

"Oh, Horace," Albus said, shaking his head, "that's not what this is about at all. Please, relax. Have some of that crystallized pineapple you so enjoy."

"Fresh out," Horace said, his eyes still darting to Gellert.

"Horace, please. We're not here to hurt you. We just want to talk."

Colour began returning to Horace's face and he nodded again, looking slightly less nervous.

"Something to drink?" Horace said, pointing at a bottle of mead sitting next to several crystal glasses. "Also have brandy or a selection of juices."

"The mead sounds delightful," Albus said, "Thank you,"

"For me as well," Gellert added.

A moment later, two glasses full of mead were floating through the air toward them, with a third flying into Horace's hand.

"I was surprised not to find you at your manor," Albus said, "comfortable though your holiday home is. You only came a few days ago, did you not?"

"Been here three days," he said, "you noticed the shrivelfig?"

"Indeed, I was just going to remark on it. Quite impressive to have it doing so well in this climate."

"Thank you, the-"

"You fled your home because of me?" Gellert interjected, feeling rather gratified.

"More because of what your escape implied," Horace said, staring intently at the glass in his hands, "you are going to war with the Ministry, aren't you?"

"My war," Albus said, "is with Voldemort and his supporters."

"Oh? And your sudden escalation had nothing to do with the Ministry removing you from Hogwarts?"

"I merely realized that I might need extra assistance. The Ministry's decision certainly helped with making up my mind."

An awkward silence descended upon the room, only staying for a moment before Albus broke it.

"Let me cut right to it, Horace. I've come because of your last letter."

"My-"

"Your last letter," Gellert said, "I heard him clearly enough and I was barely paying attention."

"I had mentioned that I was collecting memories of Tom in his Hogwarts days," Albus said, shooting Gellert a hard glance, "I had specifically asked if you ever saw or heard anything that made you think of him being interested in immortality. You said that you did, Horace. You said that you have a memory to give me."

Horace went pale again, the hand holding his glass trembling slightly.

'_Interesting.' _Gellert thought.

"Albus-I would-it would be my honour to help, but if he-if he finds out that I shared this memory…"

Albus didn't move a muscle, but Gellert noticed the sudden change in him just as Horace must have. Albus was suddenly radiating power, his eyes blazing, his jaw set and immovable.

Right then, Albus was every inch the image of the man who'd defeated him.

"I promise you, Voldemort will have far greater worries on his mind. I will keep you safe, Horace. Just give me the memory."

"Albus, I-"

"He knows that you know, whatever it is. He will not forget that. Sooner or later, he will come for you. Give me the memory, Horace, and you will not have to face him."

"I don't have a Pensieve," Horace said.

"Not a problem. I brought my own."

Albus reached into his robes, pulling the Pensieve he'd fetched from his office out of a pocket far too small to contain it and placing it carefully on a small coffee table.

With a look of utter surrender, Horace touched his trembling wand tip to his temple, his eyes closed in deep concentration.

Gellert knew the instant Slughorn withdrew his wand that he was trying to trick them. The memory trailing from his wand was sludge like and grey, a far cry from their usual ethereal appearance.

He followed Albus' lead, however, and said nothing, watching as the memory was placed in the stone bowl.

"I will view it alone," Albus said, "Gellert, Horace, please be patient."

With that, Dumbledore stuck his head into the basin.

Gellert waited calmly, watching Slughorn carefully. A few times, the man opened his mouth as if to speak, seeming to think better of it and closing it.

After several minutes, Albus rose, shaking his head and looking disappointed.

"Horace, Horace, Horace," He said in a soft voice, "did you truly think that would fool me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Slughorn exclaimed.

"Tampered?" Gellert asked.

"Very much so. Horace, I will ask again due to a long and warm friendship, but know that my patience wears thin. Please give me the complete memory."

"A-Albus, I-you-"

Albus' wand rose and pointed at the fool, Gellert mirroring his action.

"Horace. Please. I know you are an excellent Occlumens, but you are not good enough. I have no desire whatsoever to harm you, but I _will _tear your mind to shreds if I must. Do not force me to do so. Give me the memory."

"You don't know what I did," Horace whispered, "the shame-Albus-"

"YOU DARE TALK ABOUT SHAME?" Gellert roared, his blood suddenly boiling, "YOU KNOW NOTHING OF SHAME! YOU KNOW NOTHING OF REGRET!"

"Just do it, Horace," Albus said tiredly, his wand aiming steadily at Horace's forehead, "do it, or face the consequences."

Tears flooded down Horace's face as he raised his wand again.

This time, the memory looked normal.

"Gellert, please keep an eye on our friend."

When Albus rose again, his nostrils were flared, his eyes wide and furious.

Horace shrank below his gaze, raising his arms in an unconscious gesture of surrender.

Albus just stared at him for a moment before closing his eyes and breathing deeply, his fingers flexing around his wand.

"Thank you, Horace," he said, his words far more clipped than usual, "you have been a great assistance."

"I didn't know, I didn't know, Albus, I thought-I didn't-"

"You didn't think," Albus said, his eyes flashing open, "and you have been too cowardly to think since then. If you-"

He stopped, cutting himself off with a brisk shake of the head.

He stood up suddenly, his hand shooting out and scooping up the Pensieve with all its contents.

"Goodbye, Horace. Soon enough, Hogwarts will be back in my hands. When this is so, I would like you to join us there. For your safety, of course."

"I-thank you. Thank you, Albus. As soon as I hear that you're back there, I'll come."

Albus nodded, still resolutely not looking at the shaking man.

"You will come in utter secrecy. I won't have Voldemort wondering why I have decided to bring you in."

"Of course," Horace nodded, his cheeks losing some of their paleness.

"Thank you for the mead, and the information. As much as you did damage that day, you have helped me tremendously now."

Following Albus' lead, Gellert rose, beginning to walk toward the door with Horace's voice echoing after them.

"I didn't know, Albus. I didn't know."

* * *

"Well?" Fudge demanded, looking wildly around the men seated before him, "What do we have?"

"Absolutely nothing," Rufus Scrimgeour answered, "no progress with tracking them, not a single confirmed sighting, nothing. They may as well have dropped off the face of the earth."

Fudge kept his hands clasped together, biting his cheek to keep from yelling.

"The Germans have nothing either," Scrimgeour continued, "and all our attempts at scrying have failed."

"He's going to attack us," Fudge said with a tremor in his voice, "he's just biding his time until we're unprepared. He's going to come. We need to find him, we need to stop them."

"With all due respect, sir, there is nothing we can do, not until we have any real information about their whereabouts."

"He wants to take control," Fudge said, "they're going to come for the ministry."

Scrimgeour shook his head, turning to the wizard beside him.

"Robards, tell us about the new security."

"We have a dozen Aurors in the building at all times," Robards said, his voice rough and thick, "and three dozen members of law enforcement. Everyone is on high alert, and all leave has been cancelled. We've already added more variations of the anti-apparition and anti-portkey jinxes, and by tomorrow, Thief's Downfall will be installed at all entrances to the Ministry. The teams of security trolls will be in place, also by tomorrow. When the German, Austrian, and Polish reinforcements arrive, we will be diverting some of them to be posted here. They won't be able to get in without being seen, and as soon as they are, they'll be facing a small army. They might be good, sir, but superior numbers will overwhelm them."

"Dumbledore's too smart to attack here," Scrimgeour said, "he'll know that we've raised every possible defence against him."

"He wants to kill me," Fudge said.

"And so we've given you quarters in the ministry itself, and we'll have extra guards posted on your door."

Fudge opened his mouth again, but Scrimgeour quickly continued.

"Your wife and son are in the Ministry's most well-protected safe house. If an Unplottable extremely well-warded house under the Fidelius isn't enough, the Chinese government have promised to add every defence they can to it and to keep forces stationed in the general area. They're as secure as possible, sir."

"I want them caught!" Fudge said, punctuating his words with a slammed fist on the table.

"We'll catch them, sir," Scrimgeour said, "they'll make a mistake, and we'll be on their tails before they even know it. We'll catch them."

Privately, however, Scrimgeour suspected that Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald would be far more difficult to apprehend than he was making it sound.

* * *

Sirius lounged lazily on a kitchen chair with his arm draped over the back, watching the Order of the Phoenix collectively lose their minds with a small grin.

He'd never seen them in such a state, not over the course of the last war, and not since Dumbledore had reformed it.

It was actually quite amusing.

McGonagall and Moody both looked ready to murder Albus, Arthur Weasley was sitting quietly while his wife argued with their eldest son, Remus was carefully looking away from Tonks, who herself looked somewhere in between bright excitement and bleak depression. Sirius had to admit that it was impressive, that even with everything else going on, they still found the time and headspace for awkward relationship confusion.

Sitting next to Remus and taking up two seats was Hagrid, peacefully knitting what looked like a scarf. Hagrid had been more than adamant that Dumbledore must have had a reason for what he did. The only person, besides himself, who seemed as relaxed as Hagrid was Kingsley, although Sirius was quite sure that Kingsley wouldn't look stressed or worried even if Voldemort was to walk through the door.

Hestia Jones was talking animatedly with Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge while Mundungus looked on, his pipe expelling great clouds of foul-smelling green smoke.

Snape looked his usual greasy, disgusting self, although his face was more drawn than usual.

No one was quite sure what to make of this latest development. Sirius, however, thought he had a pretty good idea why Albus did it. And if he was right, well…he could certainly get behind the idea of declaring war on the Ministry.

Everyone in the room fell silent as the front door opened and the sounds of two distinct sets of footsteps approaching the kitchen were heard.

The silence became thick and oppressive as Dumbledore walked into the room, with his new friend right behind him.

Sirius had seen many pictures of Grindelwald in his lifetime. It was only a few weeks ago that he'd found an album that his grandfather, who had very much idolized Grindelwald, had put together.

The face he saw now was not the same as the one that had smiled out of the newspaper clippings at him. It was gaunter, lined with age, shadowed from years of imprisonment.

But looking into those bright blue eyes, Sirius could see the man who had laid waste to Europe lurking within.

For a very long moment, no one moved a muscle.

Then Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Everyone, allow me to introduce the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix: Gellert Grindelwald."

The man himself gave a jaunty wave, tipping an imaginary hat.

Sirius could barely contain a chuckle as everyone started shouting at once, only quieting down after Dumbledore made a few enormous explosive sounds from his wand.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Moody, demanded, clearly not caring about Dumbledore's call for silence.

"I don't believe I have. Of course, if I had-"

"What do you think you were doing?" McGonagall snapped, "Bringing _that _here?"

"My dear lady-"Grindelwald began.

"SHUT UP, SCUM!"

Acting with unbelievable speed, Moody had stood up and drawn his wand, aiming it directly at Grindelwald's chest.

Sirius heard Molly Weasley gasp and Tonks urgently say something, but he, like the rest of them, did nothing except sit and watch.

Grindelwald just stood there with a strange smile.

"Albus," He said, "call your attack dog off before someone is hurt."

"Shut it," Moody snarled. "Stop talking now."

"I don't know what I've done to you personally-"

"Does the name Neleus Moody mean anything to you?"

There was an in drawing of breath around the room. Tonks' eyes widened, Elphias Doge winced and looked away, and Mundungus shrank in on himself as if sensing oncoming troubles.

"I don't believe it does," Grindelwald said, his brow furrowing, "did I kill him?"

"You might as well have," Moody growled, his lips peeling away from his teeth, "he was never the same after escaping from one of your little camps. He was the only one of his unit to make it out, and a part of him never left."

"I'm sorry," Grindelwald said, and he sounded truly sincere, "believe me-"

Moody laughed, a jagged sound like breaking glass. "Believe you? It's hard enough for me to let something like you live!"

"Why would you bring him here?" McGonagall shouted, "How could you do this, after everything he did?"

"Enough."

Albus' voice cracked through the room like a whip, making Hestia pause halfway through standing up and Moody and McGonagall stop their shouting.

"We have much to discuss," Albus said, "I assure you, all your recriminations and finger-pointing will accomplish nothing. Allow me to explain my actions."

He looked around the room, his piercing gaze settling on each individual in turn.

Muttering to himself, Moody took his seat, his wand still clenched in his hand.

"Albus," McGonagall said, "do you really expect us to trust him enough to calmly discuss this?"

"No. I expect you to trust me."

Her nostrils flaring, McGonagall sat back down.

"Our fight," Dumbledore said, "can no longer be with Voldemort alone. The Ministry has proven to not have the best wishes of its citizens at heart. The Ministry in its current form will do nothing but pave the way for Voldemort's rule."

Dumbledore looked around the room again.

"We cannot leave the Ministry as it is," he continued, "to do so would be equal to handing control of Britain, if not to Voldemort, then to the next person who wishes to follow in his ways. The corruption lurking in the heart of our government must be torn away, for once and for all, to allow our society to truly grow."

A ringing silence met with this pronouncement. Looking around, Sirius saw that almost everyone wore expressions of disbelief.

"Voldemort did not arise in a vacuum. We showed him that the powerful make their own rules, and he was ever a quick learner. How many Death Eaters used their connections and wealth to escape justice? How many bigoted, arrogant fools infest our ruling class?"

"It's interesting," Moody said, "that you didn't care about any of that until they attacked you personally."

"I have tried for decades to work within the system," Dumbledore replied, his voice colder than Sirius had thought possible. "I have attempted to pass dozens of laws, laws that would severely limit the potential for corruption, laws that would begin the process of eliminating the animosity between wizards and witches and all the other magical races."

He turned to Remus for a moment, nodding at him.

"The werewolves do not follow Voldemort simply because they are bloodthirsty monsters. No, they follow him because our government barely considers them worthy of fair treatment. They are told, over and over again, that they are nothing more than beasts, and so when a true animal like Greyback promises them the rights we have kept from them, they become eager to obey."

That may be true," Kingsley said, "but-"

"In the tunnels of Gringotts," Dumbledore continued, "the goblins mutter about our treatment of them. No matter how many times I bring up the idea, the Ministry refuses to meet with them, to even begin discussing a way to mend our relationship. If Voldemort found himself willing to deal with them, if he promised them the right concessions, they would join him in a heartbeat."

Bill Weasley shifted uneasily in his seat but seemed unwilling, or unable, to contradict Dumbledore.

"Vampires are given the same treatment as werewolves. Thankfully, there are very few of them, but almost all of them are willing to serve Voldemort. Centaurs are never given an ounce of respect, and a giant is seen as nothing more than a difficult target. Is it any wonder Voldemort is able to pull so many of our fellow magical races to his side?"

"Albus-"Minerva started, getting no further than his name before being cut off.

"Muggle baiting is often viewed as a victimless crime. We let offenders off with a slap on the wrist, and dare to question why it is that so many of our people think of them as animals?"

"And all the while," Dumbledore continued, his voice becoming dangerously soft, "the wealthy and _important _members of our society are allowed to do whatever they wish. A blind eye is turned to the antics of the ancient pureblood families, and we tell ourselves that we treat every witch and wizard equally. A sizable enough donation to charity and all crimes are forgotten. We claim to care for the weak, the voiceless, those who have no power of their own. At the same time, we allow an inept Minister to change laws at will. Destroy Voldemort, and in another few decades, he will be replaced, replaced by one who will have learned from his mistakes. No. Society itself must be cleansed. If the people of this country refuse to act other than as spoiled children who never learned that pulling the wings off of flies is wrong, then I will act as the parent with no recompense other than to strike."

"You're talking about a revolution," Hestia said accusingly.

"I'm certainly not talking about a tea party," Dumbledore said, "though, if I had any confidence in something like that working, I would be prepared to attempt it."

For a moment, no one said anything.

Then they all started talking at once, shouting at each other and arguing, Moody jumping to his feet and yelling something.

Albus gave a small flick of his wand, and an explosion so loud that Sirius thought his eardrums would burst occurred.

"We no longer are left with other options," Dumbledore said, breaking the blissful cessation of noise that followed.

"The only method that seems to be understood is fear. I have no desire to inflict pain and misery, but I am being given no choice. Can you not understand? Fudge is so afraid of losing power that he is willing to sacrifice our only chance of defeating Voldemort while he is still weak. Cornelius did not come to this attitude by accident. He was taught that power is all that matters, shown it in every sector of our life. If we somehow dispose of Cornelius alone, his successor will be no better. The only answer, the only one, is to dispose of every drop of this cancer. It is the only way. If power is all that matters, then I will use every ounce of power at my disposal."

Looking at Dumbledore right then, Sirius could easily believe that this was a man who could take on the Ministry.

And win.

"Albus," Arthur said weakly, "we-I agree with you. I do. But what you're talking about doing, it would mean…"

"It would mean fighting to kill," Albus said with a nod, "it would mean declaring our enmity of the Ministry just as of the Death Eaters. And it would mean, most unfortunately, that there is a chance of innocents being caught in the crossfire."

"You still haven't explained what _that _is for," Moody said, nodding at Grindelwald.

"I apologize, I had thought it would be obvious. I need someone who, alone, is at least almost as dangerous as I am. I need someone whose very name inspires fear in those who are fighting him. I need someone who has experience with overthrowing governments. I need someone other than myself who Voldemort can fear facing."

"He's a monster," McGonagall said, "he-"

"I am very well aware of the nature of Gellert's character. As I said before, I do not ask you, any of you, to trust him. I ask you all to trust me."

McGonagall held his unblinking gaze for a long moment before nodding and sitting back down.

"We have much planning to do," Dumbledore said, "but first, I must ask that any of you who do not wish to take part in this tells me now."

"Professor Dumbledore," Molly said, "we-our family-"

"Your family will be in no greater danger than they have been until now," Dumbledore said, "I am not asking for anyone to announce to the Ministry that they are with me. In fact, I will be doing everything in my power to ensure that the Ministry believes Gellert and I are acting alone."

Dumbledore looked around the room again.

"I take it there is no one wishing to depart?"

No one said anything.

Beaming, his eyes bright, Dumbledore began to speak again.

'_Well,' _Sirius thought, '_this is definitely going to be more interesting than just hiding in this stupid house.'_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Seven," Gellert exhaled, shaking his head, "seven."

"Six remaining," Albus said, "and I have at least some idea of what most of them are."

"But you have no idea where they are."

"Not yet. I do have my theories though."

"And when will you see fit to share these theories?"

"We must approach this from Voldemort's frame of mind. He would have wanted to hide his Horcruxes somewhere important to him, in a location that he saw as either grand enough to host a fragment of his soul, or one that was symbolically important. I feel certain that there is one somewhere in Hogwarts."

"And yet, in all your years there you never found it."

"Perhaps I was looking in the wrong places," Albus said with a small nod, "but I have no doubt Voldemort would have hidden one there. For the others...Gringotts, I believe, would have made a strong impression on young Tom Riddle. He already has proven willing to trust one of his followers with a Horcrux. Many of the Death Eaters have vaults, it will merely be a matter of finding the right one."

"Or we could search all of them," Gellert said sourly, "break into them one at a time."

"We could. I would prefer to avoid the enmity of the goblins for as long as possible, but that is certainly an option."

Dumbledore winked at Gellert.

"Now, I was planning on interviewing a current Azkaban detainee, but I feel that breaking into the prison would send the Minister careening off the slopes of madness. Allow me to write some letters, and then we will go speak with a house elf."

"How fun," Gellert said.

"I told you it would be," Albus said, ignoring the sarcasm entirely.

"When are you going to talk to the boy?"

"Soon."

"Albus, if you keep stringing him along-"

"You have made your opinion abundantly clear. I have told you that I will speak with him, and as soon as I can, I will."

"If he is so important-"

"Enough, Gellert. Enough. I assure you, I know what I am doing."

"The Prophecy-"

"Like Voldemort," Albus interrupted, "you place too much stock in the prophecy's importance. It only matters because Voldemort believes it to have meaning."

"It only-"Gellert began, but again, Albus cut him off, standing up and beginning to pace before the small table.

"Yes, Gellert. It only matters because Voldemort believes it. I have seen the Hall of Prophecies. I have seen the tens of thousands of foretellings that went unfulfilled. A prophecy is nothing more than mere potential, the possibility of what will come. It does not bend fate to its will. And even if it did, even if the prophecy's word was law, could you seriously think, for a second, that I would not do everything in my power to destroy Voldemort? Would you honestly imagine that I would be willing to leave it up to a teenager?"

"The boy is important, Albus."

"Of course he is! Voldemort believes that Harry, and Harry alone, has power over him! Voldemort will never rest, not while Harry is alive. And Harry is a powerful symbol to all those who would stand against Voldemort."

"You truly think the prophecy does not matter?" Gellert asked, not even bothering to keep the doubt from his voice.

Albus sighed, pausing his pacing and pushing his spectacles back up to the bridge of his nose.

"I believe," he said, "that Harry may well have the potential to wield great power over Voldemort. I also believe, however, that the prophecy can be argued to have already been fulfilled. Harry did indeed vanquish Voldemort, if only for a time. Had we been careful enough, had we prevented it, Voldemort would never have been able to regain his body. I cannot base all of my plans and actions off of the prophecy. I must act as if it had never been spoken, as if I did not know its contents."

"That is not what Voldemort will do."

"I know. And I can work with that. I will work with that, in fact."

"And what will you do if you can't remove the Horcrux from him? You care for the boy, Albus. Will you be able to do what must be done?"

"I will find a way to remove the Horcrux."

"And if you can't?"

"I will cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Al-"

"I will cross that bridge when I come to it," Albus repeated, his voice carrying a note of warning.

Gellert sighed.

* * *

Dolores picked up her quill again, glancing around the room nervously.

He would come for her, she knew it. That lying, power-hungry lunatic, he would come for her.

Somehow, he'd barred her from the office that was rightfully hers, forcing her to stay in her own one where he had no doubt laid some trap.

Well, she'd outsmarted him all right. He wouldn't be looking for her in the office adjacent to Severus', and even if he would, he wouldn't be expecting the Aurors shadowing her under Disillusionment Charms.

Not that the Aurors had done well against him last time, but that had been in his seat of power.

She bit her lip as she reread her note to Cornelius, her trembling hand pushing her quill's point through the parchment when she signed her name.

Cornelius had to listen to her, he had to give her more security!

It was all well and good for him to promise that when the foreign Aurors arrived he'd station some at Hogwarts, but until then she was a sitting duck!

"They're all working with him," she muttered, "McGonagall, Hagrid, the Potter brat and his little friends, even Flitwick! There's no one I can trust except Severus!"

As she was putting her quill down, there was a sudden flash of golden fire in the air.

She made an undignified squawking noise, falling backwards off her chair in her attempt to jump.

The stone floor knocked the air out of her chest, and she stared at the _thing _that had invaded her security.

Dumbledore's bird hovered in mid-air for an instant, looking down at her with glittering eyes.

As Dawlish and Proudfoot finally acted, sending what appeared to be Stunners at the Phoenix, it vanished, leaving the red jets to crash harmlessly against the wall.

She slowly got to her feet, ignoring the useless Aurors' questions, her eyes locked on what the bird had left behind.

A letter, rolled into a tight scroll, sitting on her desk as if it belonged there.

"Madam Umbridge," Dawlish said uncertainly, making her pause with her hand halfway to the letter, "we should check it for curses."

She nodded, not moving her gaze from it for a second.

She still hadn't looked away a few minutes later, when the letter was finally declared clean.

With her heart pounding so hard she felt almost like it would burst, she unscrolled the letter.

'_Dolores. _

_I believe you are owed congratulations. Not since the time of Phineas Nigellus Black has Hogwarts had a Headmaster or Headmistress so unanimously despised. Your achievement is rather impressive, particularly since dear Phineas gained his reputation after attempting to ban all breaks and free periods. In his defence, however, Phineas honestly believed that his actions would push the students to spend more time studying._

_You, however, are despised because you are, forgive me for saying this, a rather terrible example of a human. _

_I wonder if the Headmaster's Office has even allowed you entry. I would assume not. It knows, you see, who is worthy of the role. _

_While, I admit, it would give me great personal satisfaction to see you punished, I would rather not have to resort to such actions. I would far prefer a peaceful solution._

_Here is your option, Dolores: leave. Resign as Headmistress, a role you do not rightfully deserve, resign from whatever Ministry positions you still hold. If you stay out of my way, I will do you no harm. _

_If, however, you feel unable to let go of the power you have amassed, I will be forced to remove you. _

_Do not make me use violence, Dolores. _

_Albus Dumbledore.'_

She read through the letter again, difficult as it was with her twitching eyes and shaking hands.

"He-I am the Senior Undersecretary-I am the Headmistress, he can't threaten me! I won't have it! I won't!"

Her face reddening with terrified rage, she turned, thrusting Dumbledore's letter along with the one she'd quilled at a startled Dawlish.

"Send these to Cornelius," she snapped, "he must see the need for extra security! He must!"

Dawlish shared a worried look with Proudfoot before leaving the office, the letters clutched in his hand.

* * *

"Sir?"

Rufus paused at the entrance to his office, his hand an inch away from the doorknob.

"Yes?" He said without turning around.

"The Minister wants to see you as soon as you're available."

He kept his sigh internal, allowing a flicker of distaste to cross his face.

"Thank you, Heather. Any idea what it's about?"

"Probably wants more security, sir."

"Please send him a message, let him know I'll be with him shortly."

"Will do, sir."

"Thank you," he repeated, pushing open the door and entering his office.

An enormous picture of Albus Dumbledore smiled at him from the wall.

It hung next to a large map which was dotted with dozens of glowing red points, each marking a possible sighting of the duo.

Each of which had turned out to be nothing.

He sighed again, staring at it.

"What are you doing, Albus?" He muttered, limping over to his desk.

He noticed the tightly scrolled up letter immediately.

"Can no one bother to use normal memos?" He muttered, scowling as he unfurled it.

His scowl only deepened as he began to read.

When Heather knocked on his door half an hour later to report that Fudge was now demanding to see him, she found Rufus staring up at the picture of Dumbledore with a pensive look and distant eyes.

* * *

Adalbold Richter, German Minister for Magic, had barely sat down at his desk when the Phoenix appeared.

He jumped out of his chair, drawing his wand in almost the same second as the bird popped into existence, blinding him for an instant with the brightness of its plumage.

He realized almost immediately that it was not a threat and lowered his wand slowly, adrenaline thrumming through him.

'_Far too on edge,' _he thought, staring into the bird's eyes.

After a moment it blinked.

And vanished with a flash of golden flame, leaving a tightly rolled scroll to float onto his desk.

He watched the scroll warily, his wand rising again.

'_It must have been Dumbledore's Phoenix,' _he thought, tapping the scroll and muttering as he searched it for curses or other surprises, _'I should call security, report it. He is certainly capable of hiding something that I won't find.'_

He debated it for a moment, but curiosity won in the end. After all, he'd had a cordial relationship with Dumbledore ever since he became Minister, and as much as Dumbledore had apparently freed Grindelwald, he still could not imagine the wizened wizard doing anything as cowardly as a cursed letter.

Once he was as certain as he could be that the letter wasn't cursed, he opened it, showing no surprise when he saw that it was written in perfect German, if slightly old fashioned.

It was only when he had finished reading the letter a second time that he noticed the frantic knocking at his office door.

"Yes?"

Frieda almost ripped the door off its hinges in her haste to enter the room.

"Sir," she said hurriedly, "the Polish Minister wants an urgent meeting with you. He said-he said he's not going to send troops to Britain!"

"Arrange the meeting," he said, his voice distant, "and call in the heads of our planned task force."

* * *

Cornelius stared at the door as it closed behind Rufus, his expression one of supreme dissatisfaction.

Why was he forced to be surrounded by useless people? Couldn't they see that Dumbledore was going to come for him?

The man had all but declared war on the Ministry, he'd attacked the Minister himself along with several Aurors before going off to free the worst dark wizard until You-Know-Who, and still they did nothing!

"Useless," he muttered angrily, "the lot of them! Our men are strained, he says. Useless!"

Unless…

His eyes widened as realization blossomed.

"They're working with him! He's-he's got them under his spell!"

As he began to follow the horrific implications through in his mind, a flash of golden light split the air.

He jumped, trying to draw his wand.

It fell to the floor with a clatter. His hands were too sweaty to grip it.

The Phoenix hovered above his desk for a moment, looking like it was debating whether or not to attack him.

Then it vanished, leaving a small scroll to drop onto his desk.

His fingers shook so hard the letter almost tore as he unfurled it.

'_Cornelius,'_ it said,

'_When I was seven years old, one of my parents left a combined dictionary and thesaurus in my room. Of course, I read it all._

_I still do not possess the words to even begin describing your actions. I suspect, in fact, that there are no words. Your stupidity belies mere language. _

_I know that you are beyond reason, so I will not even attempt to use it. Instead, I am going to give you a series of choices. It is up to you, Minister, to decide which you will choose. _

_Your first choice: Accept that Voldemort has returned. Rescind the warrant in my name, remove Umbridge from Hogwarts, and begin taking the steps I told you to take nearly a year ago. It is not too late to prevent Voldemort from gaining ground. It is not too late to prevent war with me. _

_If you do this, as I told you nearly a year ago, you will be remembered throughout the ages as one of the best Ministers of Magic to ever hold the position and as a brave and clever man. _

_Your second choice: Resign as Minister, flee Britain, and join your family in (I presume) China. You will be remembered as a man who realized when he was in over his head, and who allowed those more suitable to deal with the situation at hand to seize the reins. _

_More importantly, perhaps, I will not be forced to hurt you._

_Your third and final choice: ignore this letter. Continue as if nothing has changed. _

_If you will be remembered at all, it will be as a mere footnote. _

_I will not enjoy it. But if need be, I will punish you and show the world the price of your mistakes. _

_I have fond memories of you, as an able and thoughtful student, wishing to change the world. Please, Cornelius, please live up to the dreams of the boy you once were. _

_Because I will not allow you to continue on your path. _

_I have never wished to be your enemy. Please do not force me to be so. _

_I beg you, Cornelius. Please. Be better than you are. _

_Albus Dumbledore.'_

He stared at the letter for what felt like hours, his heart feeling like an invisible fist was tightening around it.

Then he clenched his jaw and tapped the piece of parchment with his wand, burning it to ash in an instant.

"You will never take this office," he growled, "I am the Minister of Magic, and I will not be ordered around by terrorists!"

* * *

Harry leaned back on the couch, his legs comfortably raised by the footstool.

The Common Room was far more full of life than it should have been, being as it was the middle of a weekday.

A cackle of hysterical laughter drew his attention to the couch on the opposite side of the room.

Dean was lying on it, clutching his sides with tears running down his face. Right in front of him, Seamus and Neville were jumping up and down, frantically trying to grab hold of a pillow that had evidently been charmed; it was ducking and diving away from their outstretched hands.

Chuckling, he turned back to Hermione and Ron.

"I'm sure Umbridge is getting paranoid," Hermione said, "that's why she cancelled class."

"Maybe we should try the DA again?" Ron suggested, but Hermione and Harry both shook their heads.

"Umbridge might be all distracted, but those inquisitorial squad aren't," Hermione said, "you can be sure they'll be looking out for something like this."

"So?" Ron countered, "There's more of us than there are of them! And you can bet we've all been practising more than them!"

For a few moments, Harry imagined the entertaining scene of Malfoy and his friends coming through the Room of Requirement's door only to be met with a dozen hexes.

Of course, Hermione had to point out the problems with that.

"But we're definitely not better than all those Aurors they've got here. Besides, if we did something like that, we'd be expelled for sure."

"We need to do something," Ron said, "We can't just-"

A flash of golden fire blinded them all, cutting Ron off in the middle of his exclamation.

When Harry opened his eyes again, Fawkes was sitting on the couch right next to him, rubbing his head along Harry's arm.

"That's-that's Dumbledore's Phoenix," Ron said in a hushed voice, "isn't it?"

He nodded, staring into the bird's eyes.

"He's got a letter," Hermione said, speaking, like Ron, in a reverent tone.

At her announcement, Fawkes turned his gaze onto Hermione, making a soft noise that sounded like the first note in a song.

He stuck out his leg and dropped the letter into Harry's lap.

Then, with another crooning sound, he vanished.

"Open it," Ron urged, "let's see what Dumbledore says!"

His fingers shaking with excitement, Harry opened the letter.

'_Dear Harry, _

_I know this year must have been exceedingly frustrating for you. I know you wish that I would simply explain what is going on, why I am making the decisions that I am. _

_I know you want to know why I have been avoiding you. _

_I wish to explain. I truly do. _

_But, exasperating as this will sound, I cannot. Not yet. Not until your Occlumency has improved. As much as I want to tell you everything, I dare not. _

_As soon as your Occlumency has reached an appropriate level, I will tell you everything. I promise. _

_Please, Harry. Practise. Use every opportunity you have to practise clearing your mind of all thought and emotions. _

_I know that you have not been putting your full energy into Occlumency. I ask you now to do so. _

_You deserve to know the truth. But I cannot tell it to you until I am sure that it is safe. _

_I hope that will be soon. _

_Albus Dumbledore.'_

"Wow," Ron whispered, from where he'd been reading the note over Harry's shoulder.

"Harry," Hermione said, "you really need to do this."

He stared at the letter, anticipation beginning to build up in him.

Finally, finally, he'd find out what was happening.

"Can't be much worse than last year," he said, "when I had to learn the Summoning Charm in a day."

"I hope not," Hermione and Ron said together.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy waited until the lift doors closed before allowing his lips to spread in a smile.

Fudge had always been almost too easy to manipulate, but now, with Dumbledore having lost his mind, the Minister was like clay in Lucius' hands.

Dumbledore's actions were worrying, to be honest, but Lucius was quite sure that no matter how powerful Dumbledore and Grindelwald were, they'd have their work cut out for them between the Dark Lord and the Ministry.

The Phoenix appeared as soon as the lift began to move.

It was there in a flash and it shot toward him before he had even thought about drawing his wand.

Burning pain shot through his face, the Phoenix's talons slashing across his cheek.

He dropped to his knees, his hand flying up to the gashes in his face.

The Phoenix gave a squawk, a noise that somehow spoke of terrible fury.

There was another blinding flash of light and the bird was gone, leaving nothing but the bloody scratches on his face and a letter on the elevator floor as evidence.

He quickly scooped up the letter, tapping his face with his wand and snarling out a healing charm.

The lift gave a ding a second after he'd finished removing the blemishes from his face and he strode out into the atrium without an ounce of the burning rage he felt showing on his face.

He barely paid attention as he greeted the witches and wizards passing him, his mind too preoccupied with the letter in his pocket to allow him to enter into a real conversation.

One Apparition later, and he was standing outside his front door.

He ignored Narcissa's welcome as he entered, pulling out and opening the letter the instant he was in the safety of his home.

"Lucius? Lucius?"

He looked up, only years of practice allowing him to keep the terror from his expression.

Even so, Narcissa was not fooled.

"What is it?" She asked, her eyes widening.

"Something to think about," he said, handing the letter to her.

* * *

Albus stopped his pacing when Gellert pulled his head from the Pensieve.

"So," said Gellert, "it would seem Voldemort is enamoured with the founders of your school."

"That, I already knew," Albus replied, "but now I have a glimmer of an idea about the last one."

"Wonderful. Another soul container whose location is unknown. Tell me, Albus, do you somehow believe that finding out what they are will obviate the need to actually find them?"

"Of course not," Albus said, "and so, tomorrow we will pay a visit to Voldemort's ancestral home."

Gellert sighed. "I always hated the ostentatious of those manors."

"Happily, that will not present a problem. We will leave in the morning."

Gellert folded his arms, staring at Albus suspiciously.

"What do you have planned for tonight?"

"I think we shall visit the offices of the Daily Prophet. Once they have closed for the day, of course."

"Ah," Gellert said, "what a thrilling break to the monotony of my life."

Albus winked at him, his smile only growing.

"You said I could kill people," Gellert whined, "I assumed I was being broken out of prison to fight, not to enchant newspapers and explore the memories of house-elves!"

"It was only the one elf. And soon, Gellert, you will have your chance to fight."

"I fear," Albus continued, his smile vanishing, "that we will not have many other options."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"What's got Snape so upset?" Ron asked.

Harry raised his head, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice and meeting Snape's eyes.

His scowl deepened at the sight of Harry, beetle eyes seeming to gain heat.

"I'm sure I'll find out tonight," Harry said, looking back at his plate of eggs, "I've got Oc-Remedial Potions then."

"You have been practising, right?" Asked Hermione.

"Of course. But only since yesterday. I mean, only practising much more since yesterday."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Hermione said, "You're doing the best you can, right?"

He nodded, guilt over all the months he'd wasted squirming in his stomach.

If only he hadn't been so lazy, he'd have already had three months of Occlumency practice under his belt. Perhaps that would actually have been enough for Dumbledore to have told him whatever it was that needed such secrecy.

If he had only been less curious about Voldemort's dreams of that long corridor, he'd probably have already been told what it was that was hidden there.

In all fairness, curiosity had always been a trait he didn't exactly have much control over. In fact, if he hadn't been much more personally interested in finding out what Dumbledore was hiding from him, he'd have remained with his wish to find out what it was that Voldemort was so obsessed with.

The sound of the post owls arriving tore him away from his thoughts.

"Mind you," Ron said, looking at Snape again, "You'd look like that too, if you had to sit next to Umbridge."

Hermione gasped, making them both whip their heads around.

The Daily Prophet lay in front of her, the owl that had delivered it already flying up toward the ceiling.

More startled sounds began to fill the Great Hall from all corners, and as they looked on the newspaper changed entirely, the words blurring as they shifted with blinding speed.

With wide eyes, Harry watched as the newspaper finally finished its transformation. The headline now read:

"_**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE SPEAKS OUT AT LAST!"**_

Hermione tugged the paper out of his grip, pushing it up and forward so they could all read together.

"_**My fellow citizens, it is time for me to address the issue that is certainly on all of your minds. **_

_**Have I, Albus Dumbledore, gone completely insane? **_

_**In short: No. **_

_**Doubtless, many of you will not believe my simple denial. The Daily Prophet has, on behalf of the Ministry itself, been doing quite an excellent job convincing you all that I am senile, that I have lost my mind, and that I have become power-hungry and desirous of Minister Fudge's position.  
**_

_**These are lies. **_

_**The truth is simple. **_

_**I warned the Ministry that the wizard styling himself 'Lord Voldemort' has returned. **_

_**My warning gave Minister Fudge two options: either to believe that I was lying, or to accept the frightening truth of Voldemort's return. **_

_**The comforting lure of the former has proven too powerful for Fudge to resist. **_

_**Of course, he knows me too well to believe that I would simply lie, particularly on a matter of such grave import. He is left with no option but to convince himself, and indeed, the general public, that I am not in my right mind. **_

_**I tell you all now: My mental faculties are as fine as ever they were. **_

_**It is undeniably true that a Death Eater impersonated Alastor Moody last year, taking Moody's place at Hogwarts. **_

_**It is undeniably true that the same Death Eater sabotaged the Triwizard Tournament, leading to Cedric Diggory's murder and Lord Voldemort's return to physical form.**_

_**It is undeniably true that the same Death Eater admitted, under Veritaserum, that he was following Voldemort's orders. **_

_**It is undeniably true that before this year, only once in known history did anyone succeed in escaping from Azkaban Prison. As you all know, this year, ten convicted Death Eaters escaped the prison.**_

_**Harry Potter witnessed Voldemort's return. **_

_**Lord Voldemort has indeed returned. **_

_**Unable to face the harsh truth, Fudge has no recourse but to brand me a fear-mongering lunatic.  
**_

_**I have taught many of you. Many of you know me. **_

_**Do any of the descriptions of me this paper has carried over the course of this year bear any relation to what you personally know of me? **_

_**Lord Voldemort has returned, and our chosen Minister for Magic spends his days worrying for his own power and ordering our newspaper to attack the character of a teenager. **_

_**Is this what we have become? **_

_**Our society is diseased. **_

_**The wealthy and 'important' members of our nation have disproportionate control over our government. Bribery and corruption are rampant within our Ministry, and there is barely even a token gesture at hiding it anymore.  
**_

_**The Minister has the power to change laws and formulate new rulings with absolutely no oversight. **_

_**The old pureblood names still command more respect than any others, regardless of the actions or crimes of the individual members. **_

_**There are, thankfully few, members of the Wizengamot who have publicly made derogatory statements about Muggles and Muggleborns. **_

_**We claim to view Muggles favourably, but crimes against them are ignored, brushed under the carpet for a few Galleons. **_

_**We ignore the demands of the goblins, ignore the centaurs' requests, and treat wizards and witches afflicted with lycanthropy as bloodthirsty animals. **_

_**We tell ourselves that Voldemort is wrong, and yet our government proves over and over again that power is all that matters. Fudge would rather ignore a threat to our existence if facing it would mean possibly losing any of his power. **_

_**We claim to stand against Voldemort and his ilk, but it is we who created him. **_

_**Our society is diseased, and I will stand for it no longer. Like any disease, it must be torn out at the roots.**_

_**I will not allow Voldemort to gain control, and I will not allow this nation to sink into a hole from which it will never climb out. **_

_**I will no longer simply rely on others doing the right thing. **_

_**It is up to all of you to decide for yourselves: Will you make the right choices from your own volition, or must you be treated as children and forced to do so?**_

_**Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."**_

"Wow," Harry whispered reverently, finishing reading it.

Almost the same instant, an explosion sounded from the Head Table.

Umbridge was standing up, her face bright red, her wand aimed at the ceiling.

"The Daily Prophet is now banned from Hogwarts," she shrieked, "Any student found with today's edition will be placed in detention!"

"And just like with the Quibbler," Hermione said with a grin, "she just made sure that everyone will read it."

* * *

Adalbold scowled at the activity around him, reading Dumbledore's letter once more even though by now he had long since memorized it.

'_Dear Minister Richter,_

_Voldemort has returned. No matter what the British government insists on telling you, he has returned. _

_Fudge has become enamoured with the power of his office. I do not know if it is fear of Voldemort having returned or fear of opposing him that is warping Cornelius' mind, but he has delved deep into paranoia. _

_He believes that I am lying, that I want his office. Tell me, Adalbold, have I ever struck you as a power-hungry man? Have I ever used any of my positions to gain more respect or power than my name alone grants me? _

_Have I ever attempted to take more control of the government than was handed to me? _

_If the answer to these questions is no, it behoves you to wonder why I would start doing such things now. _

_I will be frank with you, Adalbold. In denying his return, the Ministry have allied themselves with Voldemort. My war is with Voldemort and all those who support him, even unwittingly. _

_I will do whatever I must to prevent Voldemort gaining power, even if that means taking the assistance of a man who has more deaths on his conscience than Voldemort himself. _

_I swear to you by all that I hold dear, Gellert and I will not damage or threaten your lands. I swear to you, we will not step foot on your soil unless it is necessary to defeat Voldemort. _

_Or unless you force me to do so. Unless, Adalbold, you continue with your plan to aid the British Ministry in their battle with me. If you do that, I will be forced to assume that you are as undeserving of power as Fudge is. _

_I promise you, Adalbold, declare me your enemy and I will ruin Germany far worse than Gellert ever managed to. _

_I abhor violence, but I will not blindly trust in others making the right choices any longer. Force me to fight you, and the rivers will run red._

_Make no mistake, I am going to win. I will be controlling Britain soon enough, and my energy will be focused on rooting out the corruption that festers within our society. _

_I beg you, don't make me turn my attention to you and your people. _

_Albus Dumbledore.'_

"Excuse me, sir," one of Fudge's Aurors said, "would you mind standing?"

He hid his displeasure, folding the letter and standing up with his arms and legs spread.

"Thank you. Again, I apologize for this."

"I quite understand," he said, "orders, and all that."

The Auror gave him a relieved smile before raising his wand and waving it around.

After seeing how Fudge had sent his own security to prepare for their meeting, Adalbold could certainly believe Dumbledore's claims that the man had been taken by paranoia.

The only remaining question was whether or not he was making an enormous mistake in accepting the rest of his claims.

Not that he had much choice there. His counterparts in Poland and Austria had received similar letters from Dumbledore and had decided to withhold from sending troops into Britain, at least until such time as Dumbledore and Grindelwald showed any intention of entering their territories.

"All clear, sir. If you'll take hold of the Portkey?"

He did, touching the little metal rod in the Auror's hand a few moments before it began to glow bright blue.

The Portkey activated, tugging at his navel as it pulled him through space.

He landed on his feet, opening his eyes after a moment and forcing the nausea to recede.

"Minister Richter, so good of you to come!"

Fudge bounded over to him, seizing his hand in a tight grip and shaking it vigorously.

Adalbold sighed. He was not looking forward to so egregiously disappointing the man.

* * *

"Tell me, Albus. Your spy. You said he was actually a Death Eater before changing sides?"

"Indeed. Severus made some terrible decisions in his youth. Thankfully, he came to his senses before he was beyond redemption."

Gellert snorted, restlessly drumming his fingers on the desk.

They were in Albus' hideout, whiling away the time before Albus deemed it right to go after where he believed a Horcrux was hidden.

"You really do think that, don't you? You truly believe he has changed?"

Albus licked a fingertip absentmindedly, turning the page in his book.

"You believe that people cannot change?"

"I know that people can change. But I don't think you truly believe anyone, other than perhaps yourself, are capable of it."

Finally, Albus closed the book, turning his piercing gaze on Gellert.

"Over the last fifty years," he said, "we have exchanged hundreds, if not thousands of letters. I have seen the change in you, Gellert. Even if you do not trust that I have. I have seen how you went from blaming me for capturing you, to blaming me for not capturing you earlier, to blaming yourself for your crimes."

"And yet," Gellert said, "you never once thought to visit me. You remained content with speaking from a distance. No discussions of magical theory, not face to face. Philosophical ideas exchanged only from a country away. If you were so confident that I was changing, why not come and see me?"

"I-"

"Fifty years, Albus. Do you have any idea what it was like, fifty years of solitude? I was certain it would drive me mad. I still wonder if it did."

"I dared not," Albus sighed, "I could never trust myself with you. You remember what it was like, during that summer of madness? I felt like I had no control over myself. I never did, not when you were around. You…inflamed me like none ever had."

"So that is all I was to you. A loss of control. Your summer of madness. That is what I was, a symptom of your madness."

"That is not what I said."

"But it is what you meant."

Gellert jumped to his feet, trembling, he realized, with rage.

"And all that I am now is your tool of last resort, your final option when all others have failed!"

"Well, yes."

"So-"

"Because, Gellert, freeing you from Nurmengard had extremely far-reaching consequences, consequences which I would have far preferred to avoid."

"All very well to say," he sneered, "but don't pretend that you released me because you finally think I have changed. You released me because you had no other choice!"

"If I truly did not think you had changed," Albus said, still sitting calmly in his armchair, "I would never have dared break you out. If I did not trust you, I would not be sharing all the information I possess with you. If I thought you were still as hungry for power as once you were, I would not be taking you with to find and destroy this Horcrux."

"Then why won't you-"

"Because if you came with then, it would ruin everything. That is something that I must do alone."

"Alone," he spat, "alone. Do you truly think you understand the horrors of that word? You don't, Albus. You can't. But I do. And you could have prevented that."

"This discussion no longer serves a productive purpose," Albus said, standing up, "there were many things I should have done differently. Wallowing in my mistakes now will help no more than wallowing in yours."

"You said I could fight again," Gellert snarled, "and yet, you plan to keep me away from all the action. Admit that you're afraid I will fall back into old habits. Admit it."

"Of course I worry about that. The same way as I worry that I will cross lines that should not be crossed. I promise you, Gellert, unless there is a very good reason why not, you will be accompanying me throughout this entire journey."

Gellert paused in his pacing, turning to meet Dumbledore's eyes.

"Thank you," He said with a curt nod, "but be honest. Is that because I want it, or because you want to keep an eye on me?"

Albus opened his mouth, but before he had a chance to actually respond they were both distracted by the misty silver tabby cat that walked through the door.

"Albus," it said, speaking in a voice Gellert recognized as belonging to that Scottish witch who was in Albus' Order, "I need to speak to you alone. Ten tonight, in Headquarters. I will be there."

"How lovely," Gellert said, injecting as much scorn into his voice as he could, "an opportunity for you to leave me here again."

"Minerva will feel far more comfortable talking with me alone," Albus said, entirely unconcerned, "she holds no small grudge against you. I'm sorry, Gellert, but this is a very good reason for you to not accompany me."

"And if it is a trap?"

Albus raised an eyebrow.

"I have known Minerva for over sixty years. She is not the Secret Keeper for our Headquarters. And even if she were to attack me, I am fully confident in my abilities to defend myself."

Gellert sighed. "Fine. Let's go find this egotistical brat's Horcrux."

* * *

Rufus only allowed himself to sigh once he'd left Fudge's office.

For nearly half an hour, he and Robards had been forced to listen to Fudge rant about the traitorous, useless nature of the other European nations, about how they were in league with Dumbledore and leaving him out for the wolves.

As much as he could understand that the man was under stress, Rufus felt that a Minister should display at least slightly more composure than Fudge had.

He and Gawain entered the lift in silence, one he only broke as they exited on level two.

"Gawain, I'd like to see you in my office, please," He said.

Once they were seated with the door shut, he began casting privacy charms around the room.

Gawain lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.

"You heard what Fudge said about a threatening letter from Dumbledore?" He asked as soon as he'd finished ensuring they were safe from eavesdroppers.

"Yeah. Umbridge got one too."

He nodded, tapping his desk drawer three times with his wand and opening it.

"This was on my desk yesterday."

He placed the letter on the desk where he could see it along with Robards.

'_Rufus,_

_Over the last few decades, we have had more than a few opportunities to work together. These have given me, I believe, an insight into your character. _

_I would hope it has done the same for you. _

_You are no fool, Rufus. You are far more of a logical man than an emotional one. You are not the sort of man to hide from the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it may be._

_Lord Voldemort has returned. _

_I know that you have heard what I have to say. I know that you have, at the very least, considered the possibility that I am not a deluded, senile megalomaniac. _

_I am not. Voldemort is back. _

_Fudge denies the truth, and in doing so he is giving Voldemort the opportunity to once more gain power. _

_I will not allow that to occur, no matter what I have to do to prevent it. _

_I have no desire for wholesale death and destruction. I have no desire to spread terror. _

_But I will do whatever I must to prevent Voldemort from taking over and to ensure that such a situation never again arises.  
_

_As much as I could make use of you, I will not ask you to betray the Ministry you have so tirelessly worked for. _

_I will, however, ask you to not fight against me._

_Your men are well trained, but you know as well as I that they will not pose any real challenge to me. All that they will achieve is to distract me, and that could only assist Voldemort. _

_I would much prefer to not have to remove the source of such a distraction. I bare no ill will for the Auror force, but in such a confrontation lethal force may be necessary. _

_Stand your men down. A fight between myself and your men will only result in needless bloodshed. _

_On a more pragmatic note, once Voldemort is proven (to your and the general public's satisfaction) to have returned, we will need every trained fighter we can get._

_Regardless of your choice, Fudge and his coterie will fall. It is up to you whether you and your men will number amongst them._

_Fawkes will return in three days for your answer. I do hope you won't do something as foolish as attempting to capture him. _

_Albus Dumbledore.'_

"I'll bet Galleons to Knuts the Germans got one of these," he said, "and the Polish and Austrians too."

Robards looked up, face ashen.

"Do you really think he's telling the truth," he asked, "about You-Know-Who?"

Rufus leaned back in his chair, staring at the poster next to the map on his wall.

"A month ago, I'd have said that's it's possible, just really unlikely. Now…I don't know what else could have made Dumbledore do it. I really don't. He always claimed that You-Know-Who survived. And he made some really, really good points in that article."

"But-"

"I can't say I trust the man. I don't know what his plans are for the Ministry, and if he's willing to work with someone like Grindelwald who knows what else he's willing to do. But I do think, now, that he is telling the truth about You-Know-Who. Which puts us into a bit of a predicament."

"You want to listen to him."

"I don't know what else to do. He's too smart for us to just set a trap or something like that. He's powerful enough that I'd hesitate to send even a full squad up against him, and that's without Grindelwald by his side. And we know Dumbledore's got some followers. What if Grindelwald starts gathering up some of his old friends?"

"And with that article today," Gawain said quietly, "he's going to be getting more. The people who feel like the Ministry's been ignoring them."

Rufus shook his head, finally looking away from Dumbledore's picture.

"If You-Know-Who is actually back," he said, "Dumbledore is the best possible ally we could have."

"Even though he's working with Grindelwald?" Gawain asked doubtfully.

"I think it's more that Grindelwald is working with him."

"Still…"

"What we need to think about, right now, is whether we even have the manpower to deal with the two of them. Particularly if we want to be on watch for You-Know-Who."

"We don't," Gawain said flatly, "not without the other European countries. If we divert everyone we have, we could overwhelm them, no question. But we'd need them to be somewhere we could even do that. And we'd lose a lot of people."

"And if Dumbledore does have people in the Ministry, he'd know whatever we decide to do before we even do it."

A thick silence fell on the pair, heavy and cloying.

"What are you going to ask for in return?" Gawain asked.

"I still have two days. I'll figure that out in time."

"Merlin," Gawain said, standing up and shaking his head, "never thought I'd be a traitor."

"Assuming Dumbledore's telling the truth," Rufus said, "we'll be helping to save Britain."

Chuckling darkly, Gawain strode to the door. "That'll be a story to tell the grandkids."

* * *

Gellert leaned against a tree, staring at the dilapidated shack and trying to sense the magic used there.

"You always take me to the loveliest places." He said.

Albus chuckled, his hand gently stroking the empty air before him.

"You did say you don't like the ostentatious manor houses. I was simply keeping to your wishes."

The shack was very far from ostentatious. Mould and moss coated its walls, covering the cracks the elements had formed in the walls.

The roof looked ready to cave in. Half of its tiles were missing, and the visible rafters were swollen and misshapen.

"Muggle-Repelling charms," Gellert said, finally recognizing that ticklish feeling on his spine, "Unplottable too, I believe. I can't see anything else, not on the shack itself."

"Nor I. Well then, into the den itself."

He followed Albus toward the broken-down house, instinctively taking a deep breath before walking into the filth.

Even his cell in Nurmengard had been cleaner than this.

The inside walls had even more mould on them than the outside ones, if that was possible. It was dingy and dark, the small amount of sunlight that managed to filter through the thick trees only serving to show the dust floating in the air.

There was an old, rotten wooden table next to one of the walls, half of it nearly eaten away by termites. A broken chair sat beside it, so decayed that the idea of standing was extremely inviting.

And the floorboards felt heavy with magic.

He focused on them, trying to ascertain where exactly the source was, where that tantalizingly sweet sensation was emanating from.

"Ah. Stand back, please."

Albus had his wand out, aimed at the floorboard where, he realized, the feeling of the enchantments was thickest.

He took a hurried step away, drawing his own wand.

"Tom," Albus said chidingly, "I expected more from you."

Several floorboards vanished, revealing a small golden box.

"Ah. This will probably be more heavily guarded. Some assistance, please."

He joined Albus, allowing his thoughts to stop as he devoted his mind to the task.

They worked in silence only occasionally broken by a comment, slowly and painstakingly removing the enchantments and curses from the box.

Voldemort had done his work well. It took them close to twenty minutes to finally unwind the last of the curses.

"And now, we see."

With a final wave of Albus' wand, the box opened.

Laying on the box's velvet lining was a golden ring, with a large black stone set in it.

And carved on the stone was a very familiar symbol.

His breath caught in his throat, memories of his long search flashing through his mind.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He paused, his hand halfway to the stone.

"Taking it."

"I think not."

Gellert slashed his wand through the air as the ring flew towards Dumbledore, knocking it off course.

It flew back toward him, and as he made to catch it, an enormous fist seized him and threw him to the ground.

"You have already proven yourself untrustworthy with one of the Hallows," Dumbledore said, his words registering as if from a great distance. "You will not take this one as well."

He growled, his eyes not moving from the ring even as it rose into the air once more.

He managed to push up against the force holding him to the floor, grabbing his wand and jabbing it at the levitating ring with a snarled curse.

The ring rocketed off, crashing right through the weak wall and flying into the wood.

Albus spun to face him, his face twisted in monstrous rage as he aimed his wand.

And paused, eyes widening as a look of realization crept across his features.

Suddenly, Gellert felt his mind clear, his thoughts returning to normal as the urgent, overpowering need vanished.

"I apologize," Albus said, giving a flick of his wand and letting Gellert stand once more.

"That was quite a powerful compulsion," Gellert said, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his clothes, endeavouring to pretend that the events of the last few minutes had not occurred.

"Indeed. I wonder if we would have been so affected if we did not care so much for the Hallows."

"The Resurrection Stone," He said. "After all these years."

"Yes. I think, bearing the stone in mind, Fiendfyre will not be an option."

Gellert shuddered.

"No, I believe I must ask Minerva to bring me something from Hogwarts."

"We need to undo that Compulsion before anything else," Gellert said, "The ring is surely cursed. Were you going to put it on?"

"Of course. As were you, I assume?"

Gellert nodded.

"Well then, let us proceed with the utmost caution."

Albus scooped up the empty golden box, cradling it to his chest as he walked toward the door.

* * *

Snape lowered his wand, his expression slightly warmer than usual.

"Not as entirely inept as I was expecting," he said begrudgingly, "it is almost as if you possess more than a solitary brain cell."

Harry gritted his teeth, biting back his instinctive response.

The amount of effort he was putting into Occlumency would have earned him praise from anyone else.

Although, a backhanded compliment was probably the best he could hope for from Snape.

In truth, it wasn't much better than his previous attempts.

He hadn't managed to actually stop Snape from looking at his memories, but it had at least seemed a bit harder for the greasy bastard to call up the ones he wanted.

"It has been decided that once a week is not enough of a torment for me," Snape said, "I shall now have to tolerate your presence every night, until such time as you can wrap your thick head around the concept of controlling your emotions."

"Every night?" Harry asked, horrified.

"I assure you, I did not leap at the opportunity to spend time in your presence."

"But-"

"Hopeless as I might believe you are, others unfortunately do not share my conviction. Every night, Potter. I expect you here promptly, and I expect you to practise as much as you can."

"But, did Dumbledore-"

Snape made a strange motion as if to grab his left arm, flinching and lashing out convulsively.

His movement knocked a jar off of his desk, sending it crashing to the floor and filling the room with a sharp acidic stench.

"Get out," He hissed.

"Was that Volde-"

"OUT!"

Harry ran.

* * *

"I'd like to talk with you," Sirius said, "when you're done with McGonagall and Hagrid."

"Hagrid is here as well? That is a surprise, albeit a welcome one."

"They're just in the sitting room," Sirius said.

"Thank you, Sirius. We shall have a chance to speak soon enough."

Walking into the sitting room, Albus found Minerva and Hagrid there; she bouncing a small bag between her hands, he braiding a rope from what appeared to be unicorn hair.

"Minerva, Rubeus. A pleasure to see you."

"Thank you, Professor," Hagrid said, putting the rope into one of his voluminous pockets.

Minerva just nodded curtly, holding the bag slightly higher.

"I know Professor McGonagall wants to talk to ye privately," Hagrid said, "But I wanted to say tha' if you need, Grawp and I will help wit'-wit' any fightin' tha' has to happen."

It was quite touching, really. Not the most useful of offers, given Hagrid's lack of magical training and Grawp's limited understanding of English, but a touching offer nevertheless. Albus knew all too well how affected Hagrid was by public opinion, and yet, Hagrid was still offering to publicly fight for him. Even more, a large part of Hagrid's reasoning for taking Grawp from the Alps was because the other giants had been physically overpowering him, and even so Hagrid was still willing to put his brother in harm's way.

All for Albus.

"Thank you, Hagrid," he said, "But I believe it would be better for now if the two of you remained in Hogwarts' property. The castle must be protected, and there are few I can rely on as much as you."

Beaming, Hagrid rose.

"I'll wait for ye' in the kitchen, Professor McGonagall," he said with a nod.

Albus waited patiently while Hagrid left, fixing Minerva with a stare and waiting for her to talk.

She looked like she had quite a bit on her mind, it was probably best to wait for her to begin.

"I will not be fighting, Albus," she said.

"Minerva-" he began.

"Let me finish. I will not be fighting by that murderer's side. I will help you to retake Hogwarts, but that will be all. After that...well. You were right. Hogwarts must remain safe. The children must be protected. Once Hogwarts is back in your hands, the only fighting I will do will be if the castle is attacked."

"I can ask you to do no more than that."

"And I want an oath from you."

"What would you like me to swear?" He asked.

"That I will be made Headmistress until such time as the war is finished to your satisfaction. That if I and my colleagues deem you unfit or twisted by that monster, you will not retake the position even then. And that you will keep Hogwarts out of this war to the best of your abilities."

He kept his expression calm even as his mind raced through the potential of harm such an oath would have.

In every case that he considered, the gain outweighed the potential cost.

"No less than I expected," Albus said,

"On one condition. You accept that Gellert and I will be spending a fair bit of time in the castle."

Her mouth tightened, but she nodded.

"Very well then. An Unbreakable Vow?"

Minerva blanched, shaking her head quickly.

"I don't think that would be necessary. The day I can't trust your word, I'll have far bigger issues to worry about."

"Of course."

"Besides," she said, the corners of her lips twitching slightly, "I can't imagine an Unbreakable Vow would hold you if you really wished to get out of it."

"No. It wouldn't. Well, I do so swear, Minerva. I will hold myself to your restraints, and will refrain, as much as possible, from turning Hogwarts into a battlefield."

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking distinctly relieved, "thank you, Albus."

She handed over the bag, handling it almost reverently.

"What do you need it for?" She asked, curiously.

He looked inside, smiling at the hilt of the sword.

"It is better that I do not say, not right now. I assure you, Godric himself would approve of my plans. I assume the rest of the staff agree with you, with regard to the fighting?"

"Flitwick and Sprout feel as I do. Severus…depends on what He Who Must Not Be Named says."

"Very well. I will inform you when the time to act draws near."

* * *

"Severus," The Dark Lord hissed, "how good of you to come."

"It is my honour, my lord," he said, not allowing a single contradictory thought to arise in his mind.

He kept his eyes lowered, focusing on the snake beside the Dark Lord's throne-like chair.

The snake, and the pale, long-fingered hand that was stroking its head.

"You may rise."

He did, letting none of the hatred he felt at the Dark Lord's sight rise above the deepest vaults of his mind.

"Tell me of Dumbledore's plans, Severus."

"He hopes to retake Hogwarts, my lord. I was waiting to find a more exact time before bringing the information before you, but so far, all I know is that it will be soon. The teachers will neutralize the Ministry's additional security, and he and Grindelwald will deal with any other problems."

"Are you expected to take part in this?"

The snake on the floor hissed, raising its head just an inch.

Severus did not allow any fear to register in his mind.

"I am."

"You will do so. It is of paramount importance that Dumbledore believes you to be his."

"As you say, my lord. Dumbledore still trusts me, regardless of how much Grindelwald tries to convince him otherwise."

The Dark Lord smiled, his lipless mouth twisting in a horrific parody of humour.

"How is Dumbledore controlling Grindelwald?"

"I do not know yet, my lord," Snape said, "it is very strange. If I didn't know better, I would assume, based on their interactions, that they are old friends."

"You must find it out," the Dark Lord ordered, the snake now rising and beginning to slither across his lap. "Grindelwald is our natural ally. For him to have taken Dumbledore's side speaks of deep secrets. What else does he have planned?"

"Once he has retaken Hogwarts, he plans to take Potter to the Department of Mysteries, to withdraw the prophecy. He wishes for Potter to hear it, and then he will destroy it."

The Dark Lord went utterly still, not making the slightest motion, looking more like a wax figure than a man.

"I apologize, my lord," Snape continued, "but I do not yet know a more exact timeframe. I know that Dumbledore wishes to take control of the Ministry, or at least to render them-"

A hand rose into the air, cutting Snape's speech off as immediately as a Silencing Charm.

"He will destroy the prophecy?" The Dark Lord whispered.

In his lap, the great snake hissed angrily.

"That is his plan, my lord. He will allow Potter to hear it, and then he will destroy it."

"You are certain that he trusts you? You are certain that he does not know you are truly mine?"

Terror ran its fingers across Severus' spine, sending a shiver through him that he only just managed to keep at bay.

"As certain as can be, my lord. He trusts me, but as I said, Grindelwald does not. And yet, he does not appear to trust Grindelwald implicitly."

"How so?"

"He has said that when he takes Potter to the Ministry, Grindelwald will remain at Hogwarts. He has asked Flitwick, McGonagall, and I to watch Grindelwald while he is away."

"Grindelwald will not join him and Potter at the Ministry?"

"No, my lord."

"You will find out more about this plan," The Dark Lord commanded, "And you will report back to me the moment you have further information."

"I will, my lord."

"Doubtless, Dumbledore wishes to set a trap for me," The Dark Lord mused, "And yet, if he will destroy the prophecy…"

Severus crushed the triumph that tried to make itself felt, keeping his face blank and calm.

"What are his plans for the Ministry?"

"His ideal goal is for them to acknowledge my lord's return, and to join him in battling you. However, if they will not do so, he is prepared to destroy them. I do not know the contents, or to whom exactly they were sent, but I know he had a number of letters delivered to influential members of the government."

"Ah," The Dark Lord said, reaching into the pocket of his robes, "Yes. Read this, Severus."

He took the parchment from the Dark Lord, a flash of revulsion shooting through him as his fingers touched those that had killed Lily.

'_Lucius,' _the letter read,

'_I know that there is nothing you value more than your own hide. As much as I despise what you have done with your life, I am going to give you a chance to keep it. _

_Betray Voldemort, give me all the information about him that you possess, and throw your considerable wealth and influence behind me in his stead. _

_If you do this, I will protect you and your family. No harm will come to you, your wife, or your son, and I will shield you from the consequences that your actions until now should have earned you._

_If you do not do this, the retribution that you have hidden away from for so long will be swift. _

_It is time for you to learn that all of your gold and connections and all of the respect your family name grants you will not protect you from justice. _

_I am sure that you have seen Voldemort angry before. I promise you, I will make him seem to be nothing more than a toddler throwing a tantrum._

_Choose well.'_

"This does not surprise me, my lord," he said, "Dumbledore has long bemoaned Lucius' influence."

"Will he act on his threats?"

"A week ago, I would have said certainly not. I would have believed that these were nothing but empty words, that it is merely Dumbledore playing his games."

"And now?"

"I am not certain, my lord. But if he is willing to free Grindelwald and to work with him, I would not put anything past him."

"And how are his pathetic Order reacting to this new Dumbledore?"

"Moody is still on the fence, my lord. He is watching, waiting for a sign that Grindelwald is influencing Dumbledore before he acts. If he receives such a sign, I believe several of the Order will side with him."

"Would they side with the Ministry, or would they flee?"

"They would most probably side with the Ministry in such a situation."

"Very well. Severus, you will find out everything you can about Dumbledore's plans and how he is controlling Grindelwald. And you will not wait to be summoned before reporting to me."

"It will be my honour, my lord."

* * *

The Horcrux screamed as the sword cut into the ring, a ghastly sound of terrible, inhuman agony.

Albus pulled the sword away, staring down at the ring as black smoke leaked from it.

"One down," Gellert said, "six to go."

"Two down," Albus reminded him, "five to go. The diary was well and truly destroyed by Harry."

"One Horcrux destroying another," Gellert said, "rather ironic."

Albus placed the sword on the table, carefully picking up the ring and tapping the stone with his wand.

"Albus, if we are unable to remove the Horcrux from him, will you be able to deal with the boy? "

"I told you, I will-"

"Will you stab him through the heart with that sword?" Gellert interrupted, "Will you be strong enough to do what needs to be done?"

"I will do whatever is necessary."

"Will you? Or will you make me do it?"

"Gellert," Albus said, a chill entering his tone, "enough."

"Admit it, you broke me out to do the things you won't allow yourself to do. The things you need to do if you want to defeat this upstart."

"I broke you out so that you could do what you do best."

"And so you could keep your conscience clear!" He spat.

Albus turned a wry smile on him, tapping the Stone one more time.

It came loose, separating from the ring with a small click.

"I feel quite confident," Albus said, "that by the end of this all, my conscience will be stained."

With that, he turned the Stone three times.

Gellert's heart sped up, the air itself seeming to grow thick in the presence of one of the most powerful magical artefacts in existence.

A man appeared, more solid than a ghost but still with a strange translucence to him.

He seemed olive-skinned, with beady eyes and a pointed chin not quite hidden by his long, dark beard.

He looked around the room with interest, his eyes widening as he took in the Stone.

"Herpo the Foul?" Albus asked.

"I am Herpo," the spirit said, "and history, it seems, has judged me."

Part of the Stone's magic, Gellert presumed, was to translate between the summoner and the summoned. It did not make sense otherwise. Even if Herpo had spoken modern English, he would surely have had an accent.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, and this is Gellert Grindelwald."

Gellert nodded to the spirit, raising his hand in a momentary salute.

"Charmed. Why have you summoned me?"

"We were hoping to ask you a few questions," Albus said, "about Horcruxes."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

"Horcruxes," mused the spirit of Herpo, a smile stretching across his translucent face, "my greatest accomplishment."

"And yet they didn't save you from death," Albus said lightly.

The spirit's fingers twitched as if aching to reach across the Veil and seize Albus by the throat, its expression turning stony.

"My hubris doomed me," he said, "those insolent worms would never have been able to comprehend my invention had I not been foolish enough to let the secret be known."

"You…told people about your Horcrux?" Gellert said slowly, wondering how he had once idolized a man capable of such stupidity.

"Of course I did! My brilliance deserved to be acknowledged, those fools needed to know that they were in the presence of a god!"

"Of course they did," Albus said soothingly, "but why did you not make a second one for redundancy?"

"Because they acted before I could complete my experiments."

"What were you trying to ascertain before creating the second one?"

Herpo turned a look on Albus that clearly said what an idiot he was.

"Whether or not it would render the rest of my soul unstable," he said slowly, dragging the syllables out as if speaking to the mentally challenged, "did you really drag me back here to pester me with such inane questions?"

"I am currently trying to deal with a situation where a human was unwittingly turned into a Horcrux. As such, I must focus even on the basics."

"A human Horcrux?" Herpo asked, clapping his hands together, "how delightfully preposterous. And absurdly foolish. Why would anyone do such an idiotic thing?"

"It was an accident. How could we go about removing the extra soul shard without destroying the host?"

'_We,' _Gellert noted with a hint of glee, _'we.'_

"Ridiculous. A bite from one of my children should solve your problem."

"I said, without destroying the host."

"Impossible," Herpo said flippantly, waving a hand at Albus, "utterly impossible."

Gellert tried not to enjoy the slight hint of panic in Albus' face, but it was a difficult thing. For once, Albus would have to make a decision that came close in its horror to those that he had been forced to make, back during his rise.

"Unless," Herpo said, rubbing his chin, "unless the host soul has merged with the shard."

"It cannot. His mother's sacrifice would prevent…such a…"

Albus trailed off, his eyes widening slightly.

"Love," he whispered, "not merely Occlumency."

"What?" Snapped Herpo, but Gellert just watched, recognizing that look on Albus' face. There would be no getting information out of him, not until he'd recovered from his epiphany.

Albus flicked his wand and a quill and parchment appeared on the table before him, the quill dropping neatly into his hand.

While Albus was bent over the desk writing furiously, Gellert steeled himself, forcing the question that had never left his mind to blurt from his lips.

"What is the afterlife like?" he asked, "Is there truly a hell?

"I cannot answer that," Herpo said, his voice changing, suddenly ringing with authority and power, "even that trinket you used to bring me here cannot compel me to answer that. You will learn for yourself, one day. The secrets of what is truly beyond lie out of the reach of mortals. So it has been since time immemorial, and so it shall be until all life has ceased."

"Someone like you," Gellert continued undeterred, "with a Horcrux that was destroyed. Are you truly stuck in limbo eternally?"

Herpo's face shifted, forehead growing and eyes bulging even as the cheeks hollowed out and elongated teeth pushed their way past vanishing lips.

"Be silent," the spirit growled, "mortal. The mysteries of beyond will not be revealed."

"But-"

"Please be quiet, Gellert," Albus said, not even looking up, "Even you will not convince him to talk about it."

"Fine," he grumbled, "fine. Of course, we ask everything that you want-"

"Fawkes," Albus called.

Across the room, the Phoenix woke from its slumber, casting suspicious eyes on Gellert and Herpo before spreading its wings and soaring over to the table.

"This needs to go to Severus immediately," Albus said, holding the letter out to Fawkes' talon, "and afterwards would you check in with Scrimgeour and Kingsley for me, please? Only if they're alone, of course."

If the bird could have spoken, Gellert was sure it would have sighed. Instead, it spread its wings again, small flickers of flame beginning on the very edges and spreading to engulf its body.

And then it was gone.

"There is no way that you know of to remove the soul shard from its host?" Albus asked, turning back to Herpo as if the conversation had not been interrupted for several minutes.

Herpo stood there, his appearance back to how it originally had been, rubbing his pointed chin thoughtfully and staring into space.

"This is unprecedented, to my knowledge," he said, "I cannot even begin to estimate how the shard would react with the host's soul. Further Soul Magic would be entirely unpredictable. If the souls have truly not merged, perhaps the host could make a Horcrux of his own, and then-"

"No," interrupted Albus immediately, "That is not an option."

"Weak," Herpo sneered, "For the host to have even a chance at survival, there would need to be something anchoring him to life. A Horcrux-"

"Is not the only way of doing that."

It took barely a moment before Gellert understood, and when he did his brow rose.

'_Of course. Voldemort used the boy's blood to restore himself. How deliciously ironic that would be.'_

"Tell me," Albus continued, "were you aware of it when your Horcrux was destroyed?"

"Barely. If, as I suspect, your enemy has made so many, he will not be aware of it at all."

Herpo smiled at them, stretching his arms out in supplication.

"Come now, it was obvious. I could think of no other way for an accidental Horcrux to be created, not unless your enemy had rendered his soul so unstable so as not to even notice."

"Well reasoned," Albus said politely, "but I think it is time-"

"No," Herpo hissed, "Don't! I can help you, I know more about this than anyone! I invented Horcruxes, I can-"

"Thank you for your assistance," Albus said, moving his hand back toward the Stone, "But we do not require more."

"NO!" Herpo shrieked, "DON'T SEND ME BACK, I CAN HELP, DON'T MAKE ME GO BACK TO-"

Albus rapped the Stone lightly, and Herpo's spirit vanished as if it had never been there.

"Well," Gellert said, forcing his nauseous fear to disappear, "that was enlightening."

'_That's what will happen to you. Whatever it is that he is suffering, you will join him in it.'_

He shook his head, banishing the terrifying thought.

"Indeed. There may very well still be a chance for Harry. It would be best for Voldemort himself to carry out the deed, of course."

"Good thing you have an opportunity to arrange that so soon."

Albus shook his head, rubbing his temple with one hand.

"No. It will have to be later. I will leave it as late as possible, in fact."

"Albus, your love for the boy-"

Fawkes' sudden appearance cut him off, ending his sentence before he even got to the gist of it.

He gritted his teeth, staring at the dratted bird while Albus took the letters from its outstretched leg.

"Ah," He said, reading one of them, "Kingsley has arranged a meeting for us tomorrow. In a Muggle pub in Birmingham. We shall have to alter our clothing."

"I still think this is a mistake," Gellert said.

"You will have to deal with your ego."

"He works with the Aurors, Albus. If the Ministry know about him so do the Death Eaters. We can find them ourselves."

"Yes," Albus said, picking up the next sheet, "but it would be a remarkable waste of time and of our skills. This is his speciality. And we have a meeting with Chief Auror Scrimgeour tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Glasgow. A public park, one where many muggles like to spend their time, apparently. He has promised to come alone."

"And you believe him," Gellert said, shaking his head, "Albus, I never thought you such a fool, but-"

"If he has lied to me," Albus said, "he will certainly regret it. Bedtime, I think. We have a busy day tomorrow. And if my theory proves correct, the next day will be no calmer."

* * *

Snape lowered his wand, giving Harry the appraising look that seemed to be the closest he could to actual approval.

'_Anyone else and they'd have said something complimentary,' _Harry thought, his triumphant happiness tinged with bitterness.

Harry's Occlumency had definitely improved, even just over the last few days. True, he hadn't managed to totally shut Snape out, but he had successfully stopped certain memories from rising, more than once in the same session.

"You experience The Dark Lord's intrusion on your mind on a daily basis, correct?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "I get flickers of Voldemort's emotions all the time."

"What have I told you about using his name?" Snape hissed, recovering from his automatic flinch.

"Sorry," Harry said, "I forgot."

Of course, he had done no such thing. If Snape insisted on treating these Occlumency lessons as torture sessions, he'd decided, then he might as well oblige the git.

For a moment, it looked like Snape wanted to say something acidic.

'_Probably upset that I didn't call him sir.'_

"It has been suggested that when you feel the Dark Lord's emotions, you should focus intently on those you…" A grimace flickered across Snape's face for an instant, quickly being replaced by his usual sneer, "Love." He finished.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, feeling quite confused.

"Sorry, what?" Snape asked, in that dangerously soft voice of his.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said through his gritted teeth, "but what do you mean by that?"

"How much more plain could I possibly make it? When you next feel the Dark Lord's mind intruding upon your own, you should intently focus on the people you love until you feel that emotion."

"Why?" Harry asked, hurriedly adding, "Sir?"

"Because," Snape sighed, "Dumbledore believes that will prove more effective than your puerile attempts at Occlumency."

Harry just nodded, his hands balling themselves into fists.

Snape's eyes glinted maliciously, his gaze darting to Harry's hands for an instant.

"It seems that you are no more successful at controlling your emotions than you are at brewing a simple potion," he said.

Harry kept perfectly still, taking a deep breath and trying to clear his mind, not allowing himself to rise to Snape's goading.

"Slightly better," Snape said after a few minutes, "perhaps you are less of an incompetent calamity than Longbottom. Legilimens!"

* * *

A bell above the door gave a small tinkle as they entered.

Most of the bar's patrons looked up at the noise, staring in befuddlement at Albus and Gellert as they entered.

Gellert was not surprised. No matter how much he'd warned him, Albus had refused to entertain the idea that the suits he'd made for them would attract attention.

None of the other people in the pub were wearing a suit, let alone one of silvery velvet like Albus, or of deep purple like him.

The bar itself was not so bad, Gellert had to admit. It was quite large, with little booths around the walls and mostly empty tables scattered throughout the room. A few lightbulbs on the ceiling cast a yellowish pallor on the place, brightening it up and making it feel rather comfortable

It quite reminded Gellert of some of the places he'd met his followers, back in the old days.

Most of the people there had already turned back to their drinks or food. Near the back of the room, where three tables had been pushed together and were covered in drinks and helmets, a burly, tattooed, leather-clad man with a bushy beard and sunglasses muttered to his fellows, who all appeared to have designed their costumes together.

They all laughed after one of them loudly shouted something about ponces.

'_Perhaps this won't be entirely boring.'_

A large woman with a friendly face and an embarrassingly tight shirt approached them, looking over her shoulder at the men for a moment.

"Don't mind Rick and the boys," she said, "they're just…bored."

"Tell the poofs to sod off already, Mary!" Yelled another of the men, his companions guffawing into their glasses.

She blushed slightly but pressed on.

"You aren't together like that, are you? It might be better to come back later, if you are."

"Of course we are," Gellert said, reaching out and tenderly grasping Albus' hand. Then he smiled as lecherously as he could, licking his lips.

"Perhaps you would like to join us?"

Gobsmacked, the woman blinked at him several times in quick succession. He ignored the raucous calls from the men, letting his right hand slowly drift toward his pocket, his pulse picking up.

'_Finally. Finally.'_

"I apologize for my companion," Albus said, pulling his hand out of Gellert's grip, "His sense of humour atrophied in his youth. You could almost believe that he has forgotten how to interact with people."

She laughed nervously, her eyes flickering between his and Albus' faces.

He took the cue from Albus, contorting his features into what he hoped was an apologetic expression.

'_Sweet Sleipnir, I am out of practice.'_

"I assure you, we have nothing to fear from Rick and his friends, nor them from us. We are merely here for a meeting."

"Well, sit in one of the booths, then. Anything to drink?"

"I'll have a beer, please," he said, "I don't mind which."

"Cider for me, please. Pear if you have it, apple if you don't. Thank you."

"You know," Albus said, leading him toward a booth, "in the old days, you'd have had that poor lady eating out of your hand-"

"Sometimes literally." He interjected.

"Not to mention those fellows. Whatever happened to your charisma?"

"I don't know," he said, sliding into the booth with Albus on his heels, "it's almost as if I've forgotten how to interact with people."

Albus didn't respond to that. Gellert could only hope that it was guilt staying his friend's tongue.

"It is good to know," he said, gesturing to the laughing men, "that muggles have not changed much."

"Don't pretend that wizards are any better," Albus said quietly, "I have witnessed far more humiliating spectacles than this in the Wizarding world."

"Here you go," the waitress said, arriving beside them and handing them their drinks.

"Another round, Mary," one of the men shouted, "and none of that piss you gave us last time."

"This Muggle we are meeting," Gellert said quietly, watching as she hurried off, "tell me about him."

"He has a reputation as one of the best private investigators in the country," Albus said, pausing to sip at his cider, "a reputation well earned. He worked as a police detective for a while before leaving that job, and now works with both the Muggle police force and magical law enforcement on occasion. His speciality is finding people."

Gellert drank his beer, revelling in the heady joy of it. Here he was, sitting in a pub and drinking a beer. It was something he'd never thought he'd have the simple pleasure of experiencing again.

"While he was joining the police force, his twin sister was joining the Aurors. Muggleborn."

"And she-"

"Joined the Order of the Phoenix as well. She was killed by Death Eaters four years before the war ended."

"Ah," Gellert said, the pieces beginning to fit into place, "and you bonded with him over it."

"Not quite. But he has a burning hatred for Voldemort and any of his followers. I can certainly trust him not to reveal my secrets, particularly once I have impressed their importance upon him."

"And you really think he can do this better than we could?"

Albus sighed, moving slightly closer to him.

"I do not know their current names," he said, "the orphanage itself is long gone, and I have no idea where their records are. I have no blood or hair or pieces of their body. They are muggles, and so without an address will not be found by owls. Of course, I could manage it. But it would take time and effort. This is his field of expertise. And he will not attract half as much attention as I would."

"But if he is such good friends with that ex-Auror of yours-"

The jingling chime of the door's bell interrupted him, him and Albus instantly breaking their eye contact and turning their faces toward the entrance.

The newcomer stood framed against the doorway for a few moments, allowing Gellert to examine him.

He stood close to six feet, broad and with just a hint of a paunch. His nose had been badly broken at some point, and was now almost as crooked as Albus'.

His hair was beginning to thin, silver strands threading through the black.

He looked around the bar, and upon noticing them began to walk to Albus and Gellert's booth.

He moved, Gellert noticed, with the confidence of one who has nothing to fear. As he walked, Gellert saw what was unmistakably a handgun strapped to his belt. The crowd of men watched him warily, suddenly silent.

Slipping into the seat opposite them, he asked: "How do I know you're really Albus Dumbledore?"

"When I informed you about Emily's death," Albus replied immediately, "you believed I was a Death Eater seeking to spread despondency. You tried to stab me with a steak knife, which I Transfigured into a lovely geranium."

The man nodded, tension draining from his shoulders.

"We could simply arrange a code phrase in advance," Albus said.

"No. Too easy for something like that to be discovered."

"As you wish. If you're drinking, I recommend the pear cider. It's rather delicious. Thank you for joining us, Jeremy. You've heard of Gellert?"

"Read about him," Jeremy said, looking Gellert in the eye with not a hint of fear, "Don't know how much of it I believe."

"You still have your subscription to the Prophet?"

"Probably one of the only people like me who does."

He waved away the waitress as she approached their booth and leaned in slightly closer to the two of them.

"Heard from Moody yesterday. Two hours before Kingsley. He asked me to let him know if you contact me, to tell him what you want."

"And will you?" Albus asked, sounding innocently curious.

"I want to hear from you first. Why's he so suspicious of you now?"

"That would be my fault," Gellert said, putting his glass down again, "I have a bit of a reputation, as you say you've heard."

"Alastor believes that Gellert will influence me, that he will lead me to become bloodthirsty, ruthless, and cruel. He has always been a strong believer in the principles of law and order. He thinks criminals should be imprisoned."

"True, that," Jeremy grunted, beginning to drum his fingers on the table.

Albus waited for a few minutes before speaking again, during which Gellert finished his beer.

"Can I trust you, Jeremy? Can I ask you to find someone for me and trust that Moody will not hear of it?"

"Why is it so important that he doesn't hear?"

"I may very well be mistaken," he said, "but if I am not, one of these people may know a very important secret. The more people who are aware that I am looking for them, the likelier it becomes that Voldemort will hear. Even with someone as trustworthy, tight-lipped, and paranoid as Alastor, the risk becomes greater."

"And if Voldemort does find out that you're looking for them?"

'_If Albus is right, he will move his Horcruxes, hide them somewhere we could never find. Perhaps it is better for these people to be found using purely Muggle means.'_

"If I am right, it would be beyond catastrophic. I cannot possibly overstate the need for secrecy. If Voldemort so much as suspects that we might be searching for them, the information they have would become useless very quickly. And if that happens…"

Albus shook his head, his voice trailing away dramatically.

"I'll need something from you."

"Of course, I'm sure your fee has risen with inflation. Would you prefer Galleons or-"

"No. I told you, I get the Prophet."

Jeremy leaned forward again, his face contorted in barely controlled fury, his voice a snarl.

"He's out. Prison's too good for him. I want your word, Dumbledore. I want you to promise that he'll die."

"Some would say that prison is worse than death," Gellert said mildly.

Jeremy ignored him, focusing purely on Albus.

"I mean it. Promise me that you'll kill that son of a bitch, and I'll find whoever it is. No one will know, not even Moody."

"Very well. I will kill Antonin Dolohov."

Jeremy sat back, triumph flickering across his expression for a second.

"Good. Now tell me about these people."

"Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop. As of nineteen thirty-six, they were both children, residents of Wool's Orphanage in London. I am certain they both live. More than that, I do not know."

"Not much to go on," Jeremy remarked, "you really don't have anything else?"

"Alas, no. The orphanage is long since defunct. I do not know whether they were adopted, whether they still live in England, whether they are healthy or ill. All I know is that they still live."

"How do you know that?"

"Magic," Albus said simply.

"And you couldn't use that same magic to find them?"

"Unfortunately not."

'_No,' _Gellert thought snidely, _'the Resurrection Stone doesn't work like that.'_

"Jesus. This really is nothing to work with."

"Can you do it?"

"Of course I can. But there's a lot of things that can make this take longer. If they were adopted, they probably took their family's name. They could have changed their names or moved abroad. They could be living in some godforsaken village in the middle of nowhere. This could take a while."

"How long would you estimate?"

Jeremy shrugged.

"Anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks. Too many variables to be more definite."

"But you'll do it?"

"I already said I would, didn't I? And yes, I'll be as careful and quiet about it as I can."

"Excellent. Excellent. I wish we could stay and chat, but Gellert and I have an appointment we must keep."

Gellert followed Albus' lead and stood, nodding at the still seated muggle.

"We will be in touch. Good luck, Jeremy."

"I think you'll be needing it more than me, Dumbledore."

"He doesn't need luck," Gellert said, "He's got me."

* * *

Rufus shifted uneasily, the hard metal of the bench making his backside begin to ache. Perhaps he could get away with a quick charm to soften the metal, but the mothers kept aiming distrustful glances at him. He would have to suffer through an uncomfortable seat. He was risking enough with this meeting, even without endangering the Statute of Secrecy.

Up ahead of him, under the watchful eye of a mother or nanny, a group of Muggle children ran through the park, pulling kites behind them.

He'd chosen this location very carefully for the meeting. It was packed with muggles, parents taking their children out to enjoy the weather.

No matter what the man was planning, Rufus could imagine few things less likely than Albus Dumbledore doing anything to endanger children.

One of the mothers whispered to another, both of them looking at a point just behind him.

He forced himself to stay relaxed, maintaining a slow, steady rhythm of breath, somehow keeping his hand from straying to his wand.

Just before he would have turned around, Dumbledore spoke.

"Hello, Rufus. You picked a lovely spot for this meeting."

His heart began to race, but he kept his voice even and steady.

'_No matter what else he's done,' _he reminded himself, _'he's still Dumbledore. He wouldn't attack me for no reason.'_

"Thank you. I hoped you'd like it."

Dumbledore appeared in his peripheral vision, with Grindelwald right behind him. For a moment, Rufus had an absurd urge to laugh.

Even though he was on the run, Dumbledore still dressed like he always did when he went into the Muggle world. Grindelwald, on the other hand, looked intimidating. Although, that might only have been because Rufus knew some of what he'd done.

"You are alone?"

"As I said I would be."

"Pardon me for not trusting the word of an Auror," Grindelwald said snidely, "I have dealt with your kind before."

"Of course no one would-"

He rammed his mouth shut, cutting the words off before they could escape.

"If we cannot have a civil meeting," Albus said, sitting down on the bench, "let us at least settle for no open hostilities."

Grumbling, Grindelwald joined them on the bench.

"So, Rufus. Will you be standing your men down?"

He kept his eyes on a group of children up ahead, ignoring his heart's pounding.

'_This is it. The step into treason.'_

"Not all of them. There are a few who are more loyal to the Minister and his crowd than to me."

"How many of those are at Hogwarts?"

Rufus sighed, memories of the day he'd been sworn in as an Auror flashing before his eyes.

"Four. And the security trolls."

"If you were to tell those loyal to you at Hogwarts to abandon their posts, quietly and without fanfare, how many would listen?"

"Everyone who's loyal to me would."

One of the children called their friends, pulling them into the beginnings of an impromptu game, one that appeared to involve a ball akin to a Quaffle.

He focused on them, strengthening his resolve.

If Voldemort was back and was not stopped, the potential for joy would slowly be drained out of those poor Muggles' lives.

"Very good. At some point, anytime from tomorrow to next week, I will be sending you a message. I would like you to pull your men away from Hogwarts and to remove the Anti-Apparition Charms from the Ministry. Can you do that?"

"I could. But I need something from you first."

Grindelwald's low, ominous chuckle sounded in his ears, his hand automatically heading toward his wand again.

"And what would that be?" Asked Dumbledore.

"I need to know that we aren't helping you kill You Know Who just for you to take over. I need to know that you aren't going to attacking civilians. I need to know that you won't kill my men."

"If I did decide to take over," Dumbledore said, sounding amused, "could you stop me?"

An icy pit formed in his belly, but he forced himself to speak normally.

"You said it yourself. A fight between us would only help You Know Who. No matter what, I know that you don't want that."

"You misunderstand my goals, Rufus. I don't merely want Voldemort gone. I want the corruption, the incompetence, the pandering to names and general stupidity to go."

"Leave the Ministry to me," he said, still not looking away from the playing children, "at least give me a chance to take care of that. Let us at least remain a democracy. We'll put people on trial, not simply execute them. Let Britain stay free from tyranny."

There was a moment's pause before Dumbledore spoke again. When he did, his very tone carried a threat.

"Very well. You will have your chance, Rufus. I hope that you will prove a better Minister than your predecessor."

"And my other demands?"

"You ask me to spare innocents. What do you think I am, Rufus?"

Finally, he turned to face him. Grindelwald looked entertained, but Dumbledore looked as he always did.

"I don't know," he said, nodding toward Grindelwald, "But I know what he is. I know what he's done. Promise me that you won't be doing that type of thing, and you have whatever help I can give."

Dumbledore's sapphire eyes bore into him, seeming to tear into his very soul.

Then the older wizard extended a hand.

"Agreed."

And, feeling like he was stepping off of a cliff, Rufus took the hand.

"Agreed."

* * *

Albus scanned through Severus' letter, idly stroking Fawkes with one hand, his mind a blaze of possibility.

He wasn't exactly surprised that the use of love on Harry's part had vanished Voldemort from the boy's mind. If anything, he was surprised that he hadn't thought of it earlier.

Regardless of the time wasted, this was certainly a positive occurrence. Now, he would be able to put his plans into place faster than he had previously estimated.

Of course, once he began he would have to move very quickly. He could not leave time for word of his appearance at Hogwarts to spread before he would visit the Ministry with Harry.

'_Dinner time at Hogwarts,' _he decided, _'that would be best. It would ensure that Severus has enough time to speak to Voldemort and that the Ministry will be empty enough for Rufus to act.' _

Unfortunately, he could not be entirely confident that Voldemort would fall into his trap. It would be eminently obvious that it was a trap, but he thought that the lure of the prophecy would be enough to make Voldemort risk revealing himself.

He was sure that Voldemort would, at the very least, send a group of his Death Eaters to try and ambush him when he took Harry to the Hall of Prophecies. Capturing them would not be quite as good as showing definitive proof of Voldemort's existence would be, but it would be enough.

And no matter what happened, he would be able to keep the prophecy out of Voldemort's hands.

He was yet to decide what to do about Harry. Loath as he was to let the boy be killed, he was beginning to fear that if he did not do it soon he would fall into the same trap he always had with the boy; caring too much for him. Harry should have been told about the prophecy earlier, he knew that. But Albus' love had blinded him, had kept him from telling the boy something that he knew would hurt him.

Gellert was right that the Department of Mysteries would be a good opportunity. But that could not be entirely planned for. It would all depend on the situation at hand, on whether or not he could pull it off.

If he left it longer, perhaps he would have a chance to try and find an additional way to anchor Harry to this world, one which, unlike Herpo's suggestion, would not involve the mutilation of his soul.

But dare he risk it? Dare he push off doing something so necessary to Voldemort's destruction, simply because he hoped to spare one life?

He knew that he could justify Harry's death a thousand times over. Harry himself had placed his life in danger before, all with the intention of ruining Voldemort's plans.

Gellert may think him unable to do it, but Albus knew that he could sacrifice Harry to ensure Voldemort's destruction.

He knew, in fact, that he might have to sacrifice far more than that.

Nevertheless, he could not do it, not unless he had exhausted all alternative possibilities. For all that Herpo had invented Horcruxes, thousands of years had passed since then. It was very likely that Herpo was no longer the final authority on soul magic, even though he once had been.

And yet, if he left it too long, he might never manage to do it.

Albus shook his head, a scowl twisting his features for a moment as his thoughts began to roam in circles.

'_I will think about this later,' _he decided, _'for now, Gellert and I must plan our return to Hogwarts.' _

He looked over at his friend and sighed, a great sadness welling up and surrounding his heart.

Gellert was sitting by the window, staring morosely out with the ravages of age clearly visible on his face.

Since gaining his freedom, Gellert had improved remarkably. Some of the time, he had been so…normal, that Albus had almost forgotten that Gellert had been through such an ordeal.

But then Gellert would adopt a melancholic expression, or would seem like he wanted nothing more than to weep, or act clingy and needy, as if he was terrified of being alone.

The crow's feet crowding around his eyes would become more prominent, liver spots seeming to form on suddenly palsied hands.

During times like this, Albus had noticed, the vitality seemed to drain out of Gellert, leaving him a pallid shell of the imposing, exhilarating man he was.

Albus could almost believe that his imprisonment had led Gellert to develop an additional personality, one who had suffered through the hell of Nurmengard and who was now sitting, staring forlornly out at the meadow but lacking the courage to face the enormity of the free world.

That was not the Gellert that Albus had known, in Godric's Hollow all those years before. That was not the Gellert who Albus had dreamed of sometimes, who Albus had written letters to and thought of.

And Albus knew that what he required Gellert to do would very possibly be terrible for his mental state.

"Good news," he said, "my theory has been proven correct. When Harry focuses on those he loves, Voldemort is driven from his mind."

Gellert did not stir, did not so much as twitch a muscle.

"So," Albus continued, "I believe it will be best for us to take Hogwarts tomorrow, while they are serving dinner. It should ensure that everyone there is at least partially distracted. I will have to halt all communication from within the castle, but I believe that restriction will only be needed for one night. I will, of course, be going to the Ministry later that same evening, with Harry."

He waited for a few minutes, but when there was no forthcoming response, spoke again, slightly more sharply now.

"Gellert? Are you listening?"

Very slowly, Gellert nodded his head.

Albus walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He softly asked.

"I-I am afraid, Albus."

"Afraid? You, Gellert Grindelwald, the terror of Europe, are afraid?"

"I never wanted to be that," Gellert whispered, "Not at first. I was-I believed in the cause. I regretted having to kill, having to torture. Oh, I enjoyed my enemies' downfalls."

Gellert laughed then, a nasty cackle that ended as suddenly as it had begun.

"But I never enjoyed the actual killing. Not at the beginning. It was all for The Greater Good. But then...then, everything changed."

"You started to desire the power."

"Desire? I _coveted _it! I lusted for it, I lived for it! And that need, it grew and grew and consumed my mind. I-I began to enjoy the things I had to do, not merely excuse them! By the end of it, I was feeling most alive when I was-when I was killing dozens at a time!"

"And you had come to like doing so."

"Of course! I trained myself to like it, I needed to! And then-and then you came. By then, even though I still occasionally dreamed of you joining me, by then I would have mounted your head on a pike and paraded it around! That is what I became."

"You cannot dwell on your past," Albus quickly said, "you need to focus on the present and the future."

"I know," Gellert snarled, "of course I know that! But the dead-they don't leave, and after Herpo, I don't-"

Gellert took a deep breath, shaking his head rapidly.

It broke Albus' heart, to see him like this. To know that it was due to his actions that Gellert was like this.

'_I had no other choice,' _he reminded himself, _'Gellert brought it upon himself. I must make sure that I do not follow in his footsteps.'_

"Albus," Gellert said, sounding as geriatric as he looked, "I am no longer that person. The Gellert Grindelwald I once was is dead. But he is who you need. You promised me that I can use my talents for something good. You promised me redemption. But-I am afraid that I will become that person again. I-I do not want good intentions to pave me another road to hell."

"I need you, Gellert-"

Gellert reached out, grabbing Albus' hand with one that felt as if ice flowed through its veins.

"I will not abandon you," he said, "but I want you to promise. Promise me, that if I start heading down that path again...you will kill me. No prison. No locking me away and binding me. Kill me."

Albus stared into those once vibrant eyes, the ghost of his love looking back at him through the decades.

"I promise."

* * *

"Something's going on," Hermione said, looking around the Great Hall with narrowed eyes.

Harry swallowed down his roast chicken, raising his head to follow Hermione's gaze.

He scanned the room, something niggling at the back of his mind.

"Hang on," Ron said, "there's like...three Aurors less than usual."

He was right, Harry realized. There were only two Aurors in the Great Hall, one standing near the doors and one by the staff table.

'_Unless,' _he reminded himself, _'Umbridge really does have some following her invisibly.'_

"Look at Sprout," Ron whispered.

The Herbology Professor was sitting with a grim expression, her eyes flickering to Umbridge every few moments, her hand under the table.

"Harry," Hermione hissed, "Did Professor Snape say that something was going to happen?"

"No," he replied, mind racing, "he just seemed...happier than usual, I guess?"

"So, not like he wanted to ground you down into potions' ingredients?"

"No, he seemed really happy."

"What did he tell you to do again?" Hermione asked.

"He said to just think of the people I love whenever I feel Voldemort's emotions."

"And?"

"I told you, it was working. When I did it, Voldemort-left my mind, and it felt like it hurt him."

"What exactly did Professor Snape say when you told him?"

"He didn't really say much," he said, watching Flitwick now, "he just...kind of smiled, told me to keep on doing it. Didn't insult me or anything. Look at Flitwick."

They did, noticing like he had that the diminutive professor's hand had disappeared under the table.

"They've all got their wands out," Ron said, "must be. Looks like Umbridge hasn't noticed yet."

Ron seemed to be right. For all of Umbridge's paranoid eyeing of her co-workers, she hadn't seemed to realize that her security team had quietly shrunk. Her beady eyes darted around the Hall, focusing on the students as if she was expecting them to suddenly attack.

When they locked onto Harry and found him staring at her, her eyes widened, her flabby jaw twisting into a snarl.

"Something's going to happen," Hermione hissed through an almost closed mouth, "I think-"

Harry didn't get to hear what exactly it was that Hermione thought.

A blinding flash of light lit up the room, prompting shrieks and screams as everyone hastily shielded their faces.

Suddenly, voices were calling out spells.

"Stupefy!"

Someone screamed, a harsh cry that sounded halfway to an incantation and abruptly ended.

Harry quickly opened his eyes again, blinking away the spots and afterimages burned into his retinas.

His jaw dropped.

Dumbledore stood in the centre of the Great Hall, with Fawkes on his shoulder and a man who was obviously Grindelwald by his side. They both had their wands out.

He barely even noticed the teachers standing up with their wands drawn and aimed at two Aurors who had obviously been disillusioned and were now falling to the floor behind Umbridge, or the two other Aurors lying Stunned in their positions around the Hall.

One of the two behind Umbridge had been in the middle of a spell, his wand tip glowing bright blue as it fell to the floor with a loud clatter in the suddenly silent Hall.

The other became visible at the same moment as a sickly yellow jet of light shot from his wand. He tried to raise a shield, but McGonagall's Stunner hit him before he could do more than begin the incantation.

Umbridge was beginning to rise, her arm moving, her face caught in an expression of deepest horror.

Dumbledore's wand shot out faster than Harry's eyes could track.

Umbridge's wand shot from her hand, flying into the air where it shattered into a thousand splinters.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, and everyone there was so quiet that his voice seemed louder than a drum, "one of them let off an alarm. I believe-"

A roar sounded from just outside the Great Hall. A moment later, the doors exploded inwards as four security trolls burst into the hall, waving their clubs ferociously.

A group of students near the doors screamed, but Dumbledore merely flicked his wand in the trolls' direction.

The entire squad of trolls were lifted as if seized by enormous, invisible hands, and were then smashed headfirst into the stone walls before being roughly thrown onto the floor.

One of them was still stirring, trying to stand, and it was lifted and hurled into the wall again.

And then silence fell on the hall once more.

The whole thing, from when Dumbledore and Grindelwald had appeared, had taken less than a minute.

Dumbledore walked slowly towards the head table, to where Umbridge was still standing as if frozen, her face white as snow and her throat working.

Dumbledore's footsteps echoed through the room, reverberating off of the stones.

"I told you to leave," he said, facing Umbridge, his voice sounding exactly as it had when he'd discovered that Crouch had been impersonating Moody.

Harry let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, glancing at the rapt faces around him for a second before turning back to the drama.

"I-you-"

Dumbledore towered over Umbridge, only a table separating him from her shaking, cowering form.

"I AM THE HEADMISTRESS!" Umbridge shrieked, her hand shooting out again.

But Dumbledore was faster.

Umbridge rose into the air, her arms and legs splaying out, the butter knife falling from limp fingers.

Dumbledore's wand rose.

"No, Albus."

Everyone turned their attention to McGonagall.

She was staring at Dumbledore with an incredibly odd expression, her jaw set.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then Dumbledore lowered his wand, and Umbridge fell in a heap.

"Dungeon five should be available," Dumbledore said, "That is where our guests can stay, at least for tonight. Gellert, Minerva will help you settle them in. Minerva, when you are done, will you and Filius raise the enchantments, please?"

He turned to Snape and gave him a nod.

Immediately, Grindelwald and McGonagall waved their wands, making the unconscious Aurors and Umbridge rise into the air. Snape walked briskly toward the doors, and a loud muttering began to rise.

Then Dumbledore turned around to face the students with a large smile plastered across his face, stretching his arms in the wide pose he usually adopted during the Welcome Feast, and silence fell again.

"I hope you are as happy to see me as I am to see all of you. It is certainly wonderful to be home again."

That broke the dam. The Great Hall exploded into noise, people cheering and clapping.

"That was a hell of a lot better than a levitating club!" Ron yelled into Harry's ear.

Dumbledore held up his hand, and again, the noise vanished.

"I must apologize, but for tonight, there will be no methods of communication from within this castle. Tomorrow, you may write whatever letters and make whatever Floo Calls you like. I am sure that you are eager to inform your families what I have done, but I beg your indulgence for this one night."

Still smiling widely, Dumbledore locked his sparkling eyes onto Harry's and nodded his head slightly.

"We should talk, Harry. Please join me in my office."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

"My lord, he plans to take Potter to the Department of Mysteries tonight."

The Dark Lord continued to stroke his chin with one long-fingered hand, the great snake at his feet hissing softly as it slithered closer to the fire.

"He has commanded those of the Order of the Phoenix who work in the Ministry to secretly remove the Anti-Apparition Charms. As I left Hogwarts, he was summoning the boy to his office."

"Tell me, Severus," the Dark Lord said in a distant voice, "What has the boy been doing to counter my incursions into his mind?"

"I do not know, my lord," Severus said, looking down at his feet, "I was not informed of any changes. His Occlumency is as pathetic as ever it was-"

"It is not Occlumency."

"Of course, my lord."

The Dark Lord rose gracefully, stepping down from his throne in one lithe movement and turning to face the fire, a pale hand reaching out and caressing the snake's head.

"Does Dumbledore plan to ally with the Ministry, once they have accepted the truth of my return?"

"I do not think so, my lord. He has spoken about how, when fighting the Ministry's forces, every care will be taken to ensure an as small amount of casualties as possible. He wishes to remove any elements from the Ministry that he has deemed undesirable. Unless the Ministry grants him total power, he will have to take it by force."

"And so he has given Grindelwald his freedom," the Dark Lord mused, "to help him fight a war on two fronts. Fool. When they see how he would treat them, many of the fence-sitters will clamour to be a part of our fellowship."

The Dark Lord turned around suddenly, his right hand rising.

"Your arm, Severus."

Severus pulled back his sleeve, hiding any hints of revulsion as the Dark Lord moved his hand toward his arm, the index finger extended.

For a second, the digit hovered there.

Then it pressed down, immediately flooding Severus with burning agony as his Mark turned black.

Gritting his teeth, Severus locked the pain away in some distant corner of his thoughts and focused on the breath entering his nostrils until it began to recede.

"Do you play chess, Severus?" The Dark Lord asked, turning back to face the fire.

"I do not, my lord. I have never been one for games."

"No. You haven't. Sometimes in chess, Severus, one's opponent seems to have one outsmarted. He creates a scenario where one can either walk into a blatant trap or allow him to win. He thinks he is victorious in such a case. After all, no matter what choice is made, he gains. When even a chance at gaining the bait is too enticing to pass up, what should one do in such a situation, Severus?"

"Choose the option with the least damage, my lord?"

The Dark Lord shook his head, stroking the snake once more.

"No, Severus. You walk into the trap and allow the enemy to spring it. And then you change the rules."

"My lord, I-"

A loud crack cut his sentence off as the Death Eaters arrived.

Their cloaks swished and rustled as they settled in their usual circle, all masked and robed.

"My lord," Bellatrix started, "are we to-"

"Silence. Dumbledore is taking Potter to retrieve the Prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. The Apparition restrictions will be removed shortly, if they are not already. You will go there, ambush them, and collect the Prophecy. Do not attack until Potter has withdrawn the prophecy. Kill them if you can, but bring me the Prophecy at all costs."

"M-my lord," Avery said, "It's-it's Dumble-"

"I will be joining you shortly. Grindelwald is not with him. Dumbledore is only one wizard. Deal with him."

Even through the mask, it was clear how Avery quailed under the fiery gaze.

After a moment, the Dark Lord turned to face Lucius and continued.

"Lucius, how many within the Ministry are ours?"

"Six, my lord," came Lucius' immediate response. "Between Macnair, Selwyn, Yaxley, and myself. I apologize, but with the installation of Thief's Downfall, it has been difficult to maintain the Imperius even on so few. Shall we order them to join us?"

"No. But if the Ministry acknowledges my return, tomorrow they will all attack their colleagues with no thought for life and limb."

Nodding, Lucius stepped back into his place in the circle.

"Severus. Return to Hogwarts. It is more important that you are kept as a spy than that you would help this night. The rest of you, go. I have a small errand to run before I can join you."

* * *

Harry just stared at Dumbledore, his mind completely blank.

Whatever he could have imagined Dumbledore had been keeping a secret from him, it wouldn't have been this.

That his life had been shaped by a Prophecy, that his parents had died because Trelawney, of all people, had seen the future. That if Voldemort had only chosen differently, Neville would have been the one with a scar on his forehead.

That somehow, his ability to love would help him defeat Voldemort.

And that no matter what Dumbledore has said about the Prophecy having no inherent meaning, either he would kill Voldemort or he'd have to die trying.

"Understand me, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry could tell just from the way Dumbledore looked at him that he knew what'd he'd been thinking. "Of course, Voldemort will do his very best to kill you. Of course, if he is not destroyed, you will perish at some point. But you are not the only one capable of it. The burden does not rest on your shoulders alone."

"Why-why'd the Prophecy single me out, then? If it really can be done by other people, why was there even a prophecy made about me?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "You don't understand what you are, do you?"

"I-what?"

"You are not merely Harry Potter, fifth-year Hogwarts student. You are the Boy Who Lived. You, Harry, are perhaps the most poignant symbol of the fight against Voldemort, of the clash between good and evil."

"Yeah, but-"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "when the Ministry finally announces that Voldemort has truly returned, what do you think the people will say about you? You, the boy who tried to warn them and suffered their degradation and lies for your efforts. You, who bravely continued telling the truth even though it brought you the enmity of the public. As long as you live, Voldemort will have to deal with the symbol you present. As long as you live, Voldemort will not be able to stop because by your very nature you will be inciting others to fight against the darkness! And you, Harry, you would never be able to rest easy as long as Voldemort still plagues the world with his presence. You will not rest. And so neither of you will ever stop your war, and inevitably one of you will die at the hand of the other."

"How am I meant to kill him with _love_?" Harry asked, barely managing to keep from rolling his eyes.

"Oh, _Harry_. It is not love that will kill Voldemort. But it is your capacity to love that has ensured that no matter what, you would not think of joining him. It is your capacity to love that had prevented you from even thinking about delving into the Dark Arts. Voldemort created the connection between your minds, but your ability to love has enabled you to shield yourself from him. It is your capacity to love that has forged you into the brave, stubborn man before me who will never surrender, not when others are in danger."

The portraits on the wall were whispering to each other, Harry dimly noticed. He paid them no mind, his attention firmly grasped by the piercing blue eyes before him.

"In attacking you," Dumbledore continued, "Voldemort has ensured that there lives a man, not only with a direct connection into his innermost thoughts, but who will never be able to rest until he is vanquished. He created his own worst enemy, Harry, as tyrants so often do."

Harry leaned back in his chair, his head feeling like it was full of fog.

"You said that-that you wanted me to come with you somewhere?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely, glancing for a moment at his office door.

"I do not believe you are aware, but in the depths of the Department of Mysteries, there is a room filled with nothing but prophecies. You see, a most ingenious and powerful enchantment was once placed on the entire Britain: Every prophecy that is made is instantly and automatically recorded, even if the seer is unaware and there are no witnesses."

"That's what he's been thinking about all the time," Harry blurted out, "That's what Mr Weasley was guarding."

"Precisely. You see, part of the enchantment of the Hall of Prophecy ensures that only the subject of a prophecy may remove it from the shelves. Voldemort, I believe, has been trying to induce your curiosity, to cause you to retrieve the prophecy."

"But-if either of us could take it, why didn't he just do it himself?"

Dumbledore smiled, shaking his head slightly.

"You forget, Voldemort has been doing his very best to keep hidden. He would be loath to take any risk to reveal himself. Tonight, however, he will."

At Harry's confused look, Dumbledore just smiled again.

"Even as we speak, Severus is informing Voldemort of my plans, to take you to retrieve the prophecy and to destroy it. Great as he knows the risk of discovery is, Voldemort will be unable to allow this chance to pass him by. He has a brilliant mind, but when it comes to the things that he truly desires, obsession claims him. He will come, and the world will see the truth of his return."

Dumbfounded, Harry just stared at Dumbledore, his eyes wide.

"You-He's going to be there? But-"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, all traces of humour gone from his expression. "I understand your hesitance. It is, in fact, the appropriate response. Let me make this perfectly clear: You do not have to come. I will not force you to accompany me. There will, of course, be a great risk. Some Death Eaters will certainly be there, and Voldemort himself most likely will join them. I cannot guarantee your safety."

This was utterly insane. Out of everything Dumbledore had told him so far, Harry honestly thought this was the craziest.

"Professor, I-"

"If you do come, I will do everything in my power to protect you. There are three members of the Order of the Phoenix waiting for us in secret. The Death Eaters do not know that we are expecting them. And as soon as Voldemort arrives, a large contingent of Aurors will be joining us."

"Wh-what would you do if I-if I don't come?"

Dumbledore reached out absentmindedly, stroking Fawkes' back to the Phoenix's trill of pleasure.

"It is likely that Voldemort will send some Death Eaters ahead, to summon him the instant we appear. He may have ordered them to attack us and summon him only when you have withdrawn the Prophecy."

With a small shrug, Dumbledore continued.

"It is impossible to be certain, but the trap is far likelier to work if you are with me."

Steeling himself, Harry nodded. He had, only a few minutes earlier, contemplated the idea of killing Voldemort.

Now that he was faced with the prospect of meeting him again, however, Harry found it to be a far more terrifying concept than when it was just in the abstract.

"I'll-I'll come with."

"Excellent. Excellent. Thank you, Harry. Now, I'd like you to go and fetch your Invisibility Cloak. As soon as the fight begins, you will don it and hide, preferably where Sirius, Nymphadora, and Kingsley will be waiting."

Nodding, Harry found his mouth opening again.

"Professor? What you said in the newspaper, and Grindelwald-"

"We still have much to discuss," Dumbledore agreed, "not least of which are my plans for the near future. First, let us sink a quaffle, then we can worry about the snitch."

From Dumbledore's smile and tone, Harry understood that he wasn't being snubbed entirely, but that he actually would get answers to his questions.

'_Finally,' _he thought, standing up.

Just before he left, there was a frantic knock at the door, which immediately opened.

"Ah, Severus. Harry, fetch the cloak and come right back. We will leave soon."

Snape was paler than usual, and so distracted that he didn't even sneer at Harry as he pushed past him.

* * *

Severus waited until the door had closed behind Potter before dropping into the chair the boy had just vacated.

"He's sent the Death Eaters," He said, "and he'll be joining them soon."

"Well done. Thank you, Severus."

"That's not all," he added, his hair flapping before his eyes momentarily as he shook his head. "He knows it's a trap."

"If you recall, I told you that he would-"

"No. He is planning on...stepping into it, but he will become far more offensive afterwards. There are six people under the Imperius in the ministry, and if he is revealed tonight, tomorrow they will all attack."

"Who are-"

"I don't know," Severus snarled, slamming his fists into the table. "He said he had an errand to run. And no, I don't know what it is. But he's planning something."

"And we will react to it," Dumbledore said calmly. "You still don't know how they are avoiding the Thief's Downfall?"

"No. But I don't think you grasp the-"

"I promise you," Dumbledore said quietly, "I fully grasp the severity of this. Voldemort is prepared to move into open war. It will be just as bloody as it was in the worst days. I understand."

Dumbledore glanced at his watch and sighed, standing up.

"Thank you for telling me, Severus. I will warn the new minister. Please, ask Minerva to spread the word. Everyone must be on their guard."

"What about Grindelwald?"

"Oh," Dumbledore said with a small smile, "I believe I can find some use for him. Tell him I said to be ready."

"Ready for-"

"Come in, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted.

The boy walked into the room, clearly clutching a stitch in his side and barely even trying to hide his curiosity.

Severus couldn't spare the emotions to feel his usual loathing at the sight.

"Ready to go?"

At the boy's nod, Dumbledore moved over to his Phoenix, placing a hand around the bird's talon.

"Grab hold. It is a curious sensation, quite different from Apparition."

Hesitantly, the boy walked forward and joined his hand to Dumbledore's.

"Severus, tell Minerva as soon as you can. Lives may hang in the balance."

With that, flames bloomed along the Phoenix's body, and Severus was alone in the office.

* * *

Fawkes pulled himself out of their grip the instant they landed in the dark hallway, fluttering up to hover near the ceiling.

Harry's heart was still racing from the frantic run from Dumbledore's office to Gryffindor tower and back, the stitch in his side just beginning to recede.

But the dancing, glittering light from all around flashed through his field of vision, casting all thoughts of fatigue aside.

This was it. Finally, he was in the room he'd seen so many times in his dreams.

He started to turn around, eager to find the source for the enchanting light.

"Harry."

Dumbledore was standing next to the arched doorway, looking particularly serious.

"I am sure," he said, so quietly that Harry almost had to strain to hear him clearly, "that they are waiting for us inside. As soon as you have removed the prophecy, I would like you to keep close to me. Once I have cleared a path, I want you to put the cloak on and run to the Order members. They should be visible by then."

Dumbledore's lips quirked in a quick smile, his whole face brightening up for an instant.

"You may, of course, use whatever spells you deem appropriate to defend yourself. I must admit, I am eager to see how the leader of the army in my name fares."

Harry forced his mouth into a painful smile, his throat suddenly too dry to even try to talk.

All at once, the DA seemed like nothing more than a childish game. Somewhere ahead of him, there was a bunch of Death Eaters just waiting for him to walk into their clutches, with Voldemort himself possibly among them.

This was more terrifying than anything else he'd done before. Even when he'd been making his way down to the Chamber of Secrets or to face a dragon in the first task, he hadn't felt this bone-deep icy fear.

"Don't be afraid," Dumbledore whispered, touching his shoulder reassuringly, "I am with you. Are you ready, Harry?"

Harry gripped his wand in his pocket and nodded.

"Lovely. Well then, onwards."

With an effortless push, Dumbledore opened the door.

The next room was enormous, the blue-flamed tapers along the walls illuminating what appeared to be hundreds of long shelves, each of which was loaded with many small, dusty glass balls: roughly half of the balls were glowing with a soft greenish light, while the rest were dull and dark.

Fawkes let out a soft hooting noise and dived forward, flickers of flame marking his passage through the dim room.

"It is row ninety-seven that we need. Come along, Harry,"

Harry broke into a half-run to keep up with Dumbledore, who had begun to take large strides across the dusty floor, speaking in a loud voice all the while.

"The enchantments on this room are rather spectacular. You see, Harry, this is one of the few examples of a nationwide spellweaving, one of the others, of course, being the Trace."

For a moment, Harry wondered why Dumbledore was speaking so loudly.

'_Of course,' _he realized, _'he's just acting like everything's normal.'_

"Whenever a new prophecy is made anywhere under the aegis of the British Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore continued, adopting a lecturing tone as he went, "It is automatically recorded and added to one of the shelves. The Unspeakables working in this section are immediately notified, of course."

Dumbledore paused and gazed down the length of a row of shelves, to where Fawkes was perched at the end of the row. After a few seconds, he nodded, whispering to Harry: "Remember the plan. Keep close."

Then he was walking again, speaking once more in his teacher's voice.

"As you can see, some of the prophecy orbs are still lit up. These are the prophecies that are still unfulfilled, at least, that are still not entirely fulfilled."

"That's most of them!" Harry exclaimed, forgetting his tension for a moment.

Chuckling, Dumbledore began to slow down, running his eyes along the shelves now.

"Indeed. Destiny does not take well to being caged and neatly defined. Ah-here we are."

His heart began to beat even faster as he followed Dumbledore's outstretched finger to the yellowish label affixed just below a gently glowing orb.

The globe looked golden under Fawkes' glittering flames.

The label said: _S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter_

"Well, Harry. This is it. Please remove the Prophecy."

The ball felt surprisingly warm to Harry's hand. It came out of the little indentation in the shelf easily, the dust on its surface feeling rough against his skin.

Before he even turned back to Dumbledore, a loud, high-pitched voice shrieked: "AVADA-"

Dumbledore had obviously been waiting for something like that to happen. He acted before the incantation was even finished.

Harry didn't see what exactly it was the old wizard did. He was still facing the shelf when a hand seemed to grab him, pulling him right up against Dumbledore as an enormous splintering sound crashed against his eardrums.

The shelf opposite from where he'd drawn his prophecy had just exploded, shattering into thousands of wooden spears which shot forward into the dozen or so masked and robed figures that had appeared from thin air.

As they all frantically raised shields and cast spells to divert the wood, Dumbledore stabbed his wand forward like a knife.

Nothing visible happened, but Harry had a strange sensation of rushing wind flowing right past him.

One of the Death Eaters slashed their wand up, and the air seemed to solidify, looking like there was a heat haze.

"Enough!"

The Death Eaters froze, holding their wands out like fencing swords.

One of them slowly stepped through the gently falling wood shavings to the front of their group, his hands up and clearly empty.

When he spoke again, it was in the drawl of Lucius Malfoy.

"Dumbledore. There is no need for anyone to get hurt. Give us the prophecy, and we will leave you in peace."

"On the contrary, Lucius," Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow, "If you try to take the prophecy by force, I can guarantee none of your continued existences."

A shrill, mocking laugh erupted from one of the Death Eaters near the back of the group, making Harry's hairs stand up.

The robed figure walked forward, pulling a silver mask off and revealing the face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"We all know what your threats are worth," she said, "you always-"

Dumbledore flicked his wand toward her.

She reacted quicker than Harry would have thought possible, jerking her wand in a strange diagonal movement, but it wasn't enough to entirely stop Dumbledore's spell.

She flew back, crashing into the Death Eater behind her and knocking them over.

As the Death Eaters began to move their wands, Dumbledore attacked.

The old wizard twisted his wand like a baton, spinning it around his head in a spiralling motion.

Something that looked to Harry like frozen flames shot out, making a wide circle between them and the Death Eaters and quickly expanding.

The Death Eaters screamed, shouting incantations and flinging hexes which seemed to do nothing to stop the wall's expansion.

A gout of fire shot over the wall, which undulated upwards to intercept it.

Bellatrix's frantic voice shouted, clearly heard over the din: "WITH ME!"

"Be ready," Dumbledore called, looking at Harry with a perfectly relaxed expression.

Harry dropped the prophecy orb into his pocket, gripping the balled up cloak with his left hand and his wand with his right.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, had begun to twist his wand again, jabbing it at seemingly random points in the air. Wherever he jabbed it, silvery motes danced in the air, whirling furiously around themselves.

The Death Eaters' screams died down, replaced with the occasional incantation.

And still the wall expanded, washing over another row of shelves: The wood dissolved into dust, the prophecy orbs shattering and throwing ghostly spectres into existence who immediately started speaking.

Along with the shouts of spells being cast and the shattering of more shelves, it created an enormous cacophony.

Harry felt a watery sensation around him, and turned to see Dumbledore waving his wand. A pocket of silence formed around them, the outside noise filtering in as if from a great distance.

"You have your cloak ready?"

"Yeah. What is-"

"We will have time for lessons later," Dumbledore said, "I believe it will-"

One of the Death Eaters yelled triumphantly, and a very familiar voice answered with a roared curse.

Harry's heart leapt in his chest.

"Sirius!"

The wall stopped growing, icy blue becoming green and cracks flickering across its surface.

A moment later, it shattered into mist which immediately dissipated.

The expanding wall had cleared the shelves all around, leaving an open space that looked about as large as half a Quidditch pitch.

Four or five of the Death Eaters were standing with their wands aimed at where the wall had been, their masks broken and twisted. Behind them, another few stood, shouting out mingled insults and hexes as they duelled with Sirius, Tonks, and Kingsley.

The rest of them were scattered in groaning heaps on the ground, their robes torn and smoking with frost coating them.

In the second that he was taking this all in, his wand was already instinctively rising, an incantation springing to his lips.

"STUPEFY!"

The red jet of light sped towards a male Death Eater that Harry didn't recognize, who cast a Shield Charm with a sneer.

As the other Death Eaters all began to cast spells, Dumbledore slashed his wand in their direction.

All those strange, glittering lights Dumbledore had hung in the air shot down, twisting into arrow shapes and attacking the Death Eaters. They tore at the silver masks, ripping them off before swirling around and crashing into their bodies.

A searing, red-hot pain shot through Harry's forehead along with a rushing sensation that somehow gave the impression of speed, almost dropping him to his knees. Through teary eyes, he dimly saw one of the prone Death Eater's hand falling away from the mark on his arm.

His stomach turned to water. Voldemort was coming.

Dumbledore twirled his wand, sending some of those metallic lights to fly at the backs of the Death Eaters who were fighting the Order: an instant before they collided, Tonks was blasted back with her arm bent at a horrific angle.

"Professor, Volde-"

He just managed to twist his head out of the path of an emerald green spell that came hurtling right toward his face.

He raised his wand in a panic, screaming out the first spell to come to mind.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Another killing curse came within an inch of his head, and Dumbledore turned with an incongruous, terrifying snarl.

Before Dumbledore's spell impacted, Harry had just enough time to recognize his attacker's face from the newspaper: It was Dolohov, the murderer of the Prewetts.

A moment later, Dolohov's chest bulged out, his eyes widening for an instant before going glassy and beginning to spout blood.

He keeled over, clearly dead.

"What did you say, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, now waving his wand in a see-saw gesture.

"Voldemort's coming," He quickly replied, "one of them pressed their Mark, I felt it, he's-"

The floor began to shake, rolling up and down like the ocean, knocking the last standing Death Eaters off of their feet.

Kingsley immediately began conjuring ropes around the fallen Death Eaters, while Sirius leaned over Tonks and seemed to be ministering to her arm.

None of them seemed aware of the approaching danger.

"Fawkes, now," Dumbledore said, watching as the Phoenix vanished in a puff of golden flame before turning his attention back to Harry.

"Put on the cloak," Dumbledore commanded, his eyes scanning the room as his wand rose, "and-"

Dumbledore suddenly moved with incredible speed, rushing forward and standing in front of Harry just as the ropes Kingsley had conjured _shifted, _becoming fiery serpents which slithered off of the Death Eaters and toward Kingsley, Sirius, and Tonks, snapping their jaws and spitting sparks.

And then Harry saw him.

Voldemort was standing near one of the remaining shelves, his snakelike features twisted in inhumane fury, his eyes twin flames in the gloom.

Voldemort's wand flashed, a Killing Curse flying from the end and shooting directly toward Dumbledore.

Dumbledore barely moved his hand, but one of the unconscious Death Eaters was thrown into the curse's path, his body glowing with an eerie green light as it absorbed the curse.

Voldemort growled, his rage clearly heard across the room as he twisted his wand, making a series of bluish lights appear and fly into his stunned fighters.

"The cloak," Dumbledore said quietly, taking a step away from Harry, "now."

Harry started, his mind shaking out of the terrified stupor Voldemort's arrival had inspired.

His trembling fingers managed to seize the cloak from within his pocket.

"Did you really think your Death Eaters could take the prophecy from me, Tom?" Dumbledore asked chidingly, raising his wand to a point just above his head.

"You think too highly of yourself," Voldemort hissed, "As you always have."

"I like to think I view myself honestly. It is a pity that you cannot say the same."

Harry tore the cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself just as Dumbledore attacked.

A thousand jet-black tendrils erupted from his wand and spun around each other, forming a whirlwind which flew at Voldemort.

Immediately, Dumbledore twisted, his robes swirling around him as he vanished and reappeared a short distance to the left of where he had been, a blindingly bright spell hurtling from his wand toward Voldemort on his arrival.

Harry ran to where Sirius and Kingsley were hexing the fiery snakes, his trainers squeaking against a bloody puddle.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Voldemort throw up a physical shield against the black rope-like apparitions Dumbledore had conjured, while one of the shelves tore itself in half and jumped in front of the bright light.

More prophecies smashed, dozens of new apparitions appearing and speaking their predictions.

"Trying to capture me, Dumbledore? You do not seek to kill me?"

"There are far worse things than death," Dumbledore said ominously.

His wand jerked and the row of shelves behind Voldemort leapt forwards, the wood suddenly growing spiky arms.

Voldemort vanished, appearing on the opposite side of the room, a Killing Curse flying from his wand as the shelf exploded into dozens of spears which shot at Dumbledore.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, a useless warning springing to his lips.

It was unnecessary.

Dumbledore Apparated again, clearing out the Killing Curse's path and flicking his wand as he reappeared.

The wooden spears became flaming arrows and flew at Voldemort.

As Voldemort made some type of enormous, spherical shield that surrounded him, Dumbledore was already casting his next spell, a giant watery cocoon-like thing which formed around Voldemort.

"HARRY," Sirius roared, "GET OVER HERE! WE NEED TO GO!"

Spurred by the yell, Harry began to run to Sirius again. He and Kingsley had managed to get rid of the snakes and were helping Tonks again, their robes singed and smoking.

And the Death Eaters were stirring, feebly pushing themselves back into their feet.

Something smashed into Harry's back with the force of a locomotive, knocking him to the ground and whipping the cloak off of him.

Dazed, he shook his head, trying to stand.

In his pocket, the prophecy jerked harshly, tearing through the denim and flying out.

Harry dived, throwing his body over it, carefully cradling his hands around it.

He saw Dumbledore slashing his wand at Voldemort, and though there was no visible spell, Voldemort raised his wand in a clearly defensive motion.

A gunshot noise rolled into Harry's eardrums, and Voldemort was pushed back, his feet sliding along the marble floor.

"HARRY, COME ON!"

"STUPEFY!" Harry yelled, brandishing his wand and sending one of the Death Eaters careening back down.

He began to rise, cradling the prophecy to his chest and seizing his cloak from the floor.

Something crashed into him, knocking him back onto his backside. One of the Death Eaters had launched himself into him.

"Give me the prophecy, boy," he snarled, his breath hot on Harry's face, his one hand reaching for Harry's throat while the other scrabbled against his chest.

Before he could think of something to do, there was a squelching pop and Harry was splattered with blood and gore.

The Death Eater's body fell, the crushed head drawing Harry's horrified, red-misted eyes.

"COME ON," Sirius yelled, grabbing Harry by the shoulder and pulling his unresisting body up.

A bunch of new voices sounded, filling the air with screams and incantations.

Wiping the blood from his eyes, Harry saw dozens of people flooding into the room, all Ministry workers by the looks of it.

The Death Eaters noticed as well and began Disapparating away.

Still engaged in his duel with Dumbledore, Voldemort shrieked, sending another Killing Curse at his opponent before flicking his wand and sending a wall of flame in the direction of the newcomers.

The ground rose up in front of Dumbledore, intercepting the Killing Curse.

His fingernails tightening into Harry's arm, Sirius spun, pulling Harry through what felt like a tight tube.

* * *

Out the corner of his eye, Albus saw Sirius Disapparate with Harry in tow.

He couldn't help but feel a smidgeon of disappointed fear, couldn't help but second-guess his decision to ensure Harry's survival through this night.

He ignored that feeling as much as possible, focusing instead on the duel with Tom.

The Aurors, he felt sure, were capable of dealing with Tom's wall of fire. Nevertheless, it always paid to impress.

He twisted his wand, focusing on the magic Tom had used to create the flames.

He seized it with his mind, his will crashing up against Tom's and transforming it.

The fiery wall changed, becoming a mist golem. It took the form of an enormous four-legged beast with ragged horns curling out of its head like a goat's.

It dropped to all fours and charged Voldemort.

The Elder Wand sang in his mind, its joy at being used making a symphony with the bloodlust it was trying to inspire.

Tom dissipated his mist creature and tried to transfigure the air around him into concrete, but Albus stopped that before the greyish dust even began to form.

The Ministry personnel all shouted, dozens of spells flying toward Voldemort.

Useless and too late though he knew it was, he still tried to cast an Anti-Apparition Charm.

Of course, Tom was vanishing before the charm could land.

He readjusted it, sending the invisible rope of his charm to tighten around the last three surviving and remaining Death Eaters. They were unconscious, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to keep them there.

Well, it had been quite a success. None of his people grievously injured, Tom's return proven, three Death Eaters captured, and at least three killed, including Dolohov. Not bad for less than an hour's work.

Finally, he turned to face the Minister and his men.

They fell silent as he turned, their shocked exclamations falling away.

Interestingly enough, Cornelius was the first to recover. He was standing there in his dressing gown and nightcap, clearly on his way to bed.

"You-That was-"

"Voldemort," he said, hating the way they all flinched, "that was Voldemort. As I have been telling you for close to a year, he has returned."

Cornelius looked around wildly as if deciding whether to order his arrest.

Preposterous. As if he would allow such a thing.

They began talking again, all of them babbling and trying to express their confusion.

Percy Weasley, he noted, looked as if he had been punched in the stomach.

"Minister Scrimgeour," Albus said, causing them all to fall quiet and stare at him again, "I believe you should be ordering former Minister Fudge's arrest."

"You can't-"

"Minister Scrimgeour?"

"FORMER MIN-"

He twirled his wand, making a loud explosive noise which shook the walls.

"Yes," He called, affixing Cornelius with the most piercing glare he felt capable of. "I warned you close to a year ago that Voldemort had returned. You ignored me, choosing to attack my character and deny the truth. Due to your egotistical dereliction of duty, Voldemort has had a year to plot and build his forces."

"You can't just take over!" Fudge screamed, "you can't-"

"But I am not. You are unfit to remain in your office, and so I am appointing a fair and worthy replacement."

He paused for a moment to nod to Scrimgeour, happily noting the number of Aurors who had moved closer to Rufus.

Quietly and without fanfare, a large empty space was forming around Fudge.

"This is treason!"

"Treason would be ignoring the greatest threat Britain has ever faced for personal gain," he replied, "Treason would be using the so-called neutral newspaper as a mouthpiece to assassinate the character of a child who warned of danger. Treason would be accepting monetary gifts from known associates of a terrorist."

He dropped his voice to just above a whisper, allowing the icy fury in his heart to seep into his words.

"Of those in this room, only one is guilty of treason. And it is not I, Cornelius."

Two of the Aurors were whispering frantically to each other. Their speech died when his gaze fell upon them, his eyebrows rising.

"You have just seen confirmation of everything that I have been warning you about for nearly a year," he said, "is your loyalty to Fudge or to this nation?"

"But-you freed Grindelwald!"

"So I did. And he will help defeat Voldemort."

"You don't get to decide-"

"Of course he does," Rufus suddenly spat, "if you'd have just listened to him last year, we wouldn't be in this situation! I wouldn't be forced to take this responsibility. You really think I want it? I don't! I'll take it because it's better than the alternatives, but I'd far rather you were enough of a man to remain Minister!"

Cornelius sneered, his genial bewildered manner vanishing.

"Liar! You've been after this position for years! You've-

Before any of the Aurors could react to Albus' sudden motion, the Silencing Charm was on Cornelius.

"Enough. Rufus-pardon me, Acting Minister Scrimgeour, you made mention of wanting trials?"

Slowly, Rufus nodded, prompting renewed muttering from the rest of the Ministry workers present.

"Well, the three Death Eaters behind me are kept in place by an Anti-Apparition Charm. It is not my place to say, but I believe they, and anyone else awaiting trial, should not be remanded to Azkaban. It is only a matter of time before Voldemort brings the Dementors to his side openly."

Finally annoyed with his situation enough to do something about it, Cornelius went for his wand.

Albus let him draw it, patiently waiting to see how Rufus would react, and was pleasantly surprised when one of the Aurors, Reginald Hartford, stunned the former Minister for Magic.

Reginald wore a sickened expression as Cornelius fell, but his face gained some colour back when Rufus nodded to him approvingly.

"You can expect Voldemort's counter strike to be swift and terrible," Albus said, once more seizing the attention of everyone present, "Minister Scrimgeour, I believe a meeting between us to discuss strategy is called for. And someone should inform the Prophet."

"Who put you in charge?" Someone called, "what makes you think you can just come in here, replace the Minister and tell us all what to do?"

He sighed, locating the voice and identifying it as belonging to Quentin Shafiq.

"What makes me think I can do this? The fact that it needs to be done and nobody else is doing it. If you have a problem, try and stop me."

Quentin quailed under his gaze, shrinking in on himself and staring at his feet.

"Until such time as elections can take place, Minister Scrimgeour will be taking Cornelius' office. As long as the ministry is dedicated to stopping Voldemort and removing the bigotry and incompetence that so infects these hallowed halls, I will not interfere. I still believe that democracy is necessary and right."

He ran his eyes along them all, pinning them in place with a look.

"Much as I am capable of it, I am not taking over. I am giving this ministry a chance to be what it was meant to be, a chance to prove that the government of Wizarding Britain can work for the good of the people."

The sound of pounding feet on marble echoed through the ruined Hall of Prophecies, shattering the thoughtful silence his words had wrought.

"S-sir, you-"

A young hit-wizard skidded into the room, clutching his side and gasping for air.

"What is it?" Rufus snapped, "And tell me that Jason's still manning the communication centre."

The wizard nodded, bending over and catching his breath back.

The tension was heavy in the air as the wizard, Orson Blackwood, Albus thought, slowly straightened up.

They could feel it, the sensation of bad news about to be imparted.

'_Tom has moved quickly. We will have to strike back as soon as possible.'_

"Reports of a Giant just outside Liverpool," he wheezed. "Wrecking the motorway."

Before anyone had even process the news, another wizard came bursting through the open doors.

"Jason, what-"

"Azkaban," the wizard shouted, "It's under attack, the Dementors have turned on our men!"

Rufus turned to face Albus, his eyes wide and showing more than a hint of fear.

"The war," Albus said softly, "has now begun in earnest."

In his hand, the Elder Wand seemed to emit a sense of joy at the prospect.


	8. Interlude I

Interlude I

When she heard the first tinkle of breaking glass, Andromeda felt no alarm. She continued brushing her teeth, thirty years of marriage causing the sound of Ted's clumsiness to not even register in her conscious mind.

But when, a minute later, she heard more glass break accompanied by a muted grunt, some unspoken fear flittered across her thoughts, her daughter's voice whispering a warning in the back of her mind.

She spat out the toothpaste, quietly placing the brush in its cup and drawing her wand.

It had only been a few hours since Dora had sent them an owl to say that You Know Who might be targeting the families of Order members and that they should be on their guard. She'd paid heed to that, making sure that her wand was within arm's reach at all times.

As slowly and cautiously as she could, she opened the bathroom door, slipping out of her shoes as she went.

She walked out onto the landing, carefully avoiding the loose floorboard, listening with all her might and forcing her fear to recede.

She was halfway down the stairs, making not a sound, when he called to her, his voice slightly more high-pitched than usual.

"Dromeda, dear, could you come here please?"

An icy fist clenched around her heart, squeezing the breath out of her and driving her almost mad with terror.

Ted _never _called her Dromeda, never. Not since their third date, when she'd told him how her insane sister had used to call her that.

She could remember his response as if it had been just yesterday.

"Well," he'd said with a cocky grin, "at least now I know how to warn you if it seems like she's coming for us."

He'd referenced that conversation again only a few months before, when the news about Bellatrix's escape had broken.

Panic drowned her mind, her wand suddenly slick in her fingers.

Bellatrix was in her house. Bellatrix was in her house, and she had Ted.

'_Deep breaths,' _she told herself, _'deep breaths. Remember what Uncle Orion used to say: fear will kill you more often than an enemy. Get rid of the fear or it will get rid of you.'_

"Coming, Teddy," she called, hoping that her use of the name he despised would let him know that she'd understood his warning.

Then she took a deep breath, remembering her uncle's advice and thinking of nothing but the feeling of the air entering her body.

'_I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. She was better than me, but she's been in Azkaban. She won't be as good as she was. I am not afraid.'_

"Dromeda," he repeated, and this time his voice had a tremble in it, "Please, I need some help here quickly."

"On the way."

She lifted her wand, thankful beyond belief that Nymphadora had thought to teach her the Order's method of communication.

Focusing on how she had felt that incredible day when her daughter had been born, she waved her wand and whispered: "Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery mist shot forth condensing after a moment into the form of a large eagle.

"Tell Nymphadora that Bellatrix is in our house," she whispered, "she has Ted hostage."

Her Patronus blinked at her for a moment before stretching its wings and launching into the air, exiting the house as if the wall wasn't there.

'_I've done what I can. Can't do anything more until I know the situation better. If she's got a wand to his head and I surprise her…'_

She shook her head, cutting that train of thought off before she could become a gibbering wreck.

'_I am not afraid. I am not afraid. She comes into my house and dares try to take what is mine? She should fear me!'_

She lifted her head, holding her neck straight in the almost regal manner she'd cast aside when she left home.

And then she walked on, taking no more care to hide her footsteps.

Ted called for her again, just before she walked into the kitchen.

"I'm here," she said, entering.

Bellatrix was there, a knife to Ted's throat and her wand outstretched, positioned so that his body was shielding her.

At the sight of her sister, a cold clarity settled over Andromeda, blotting out her fear.

Bellatrix looked ghastly, worse even than the pictures had made her out to be.

A purple bruise bloomed across half her face, while the rest was covered in cuts and burns.

Ted had been pouring himself a glass of gin, she thought. The bottle lay smashed on the floor, clear liquid pooling around it, while the glass looked like it had been thrown.

When she saw Andromeda, Bellatrix's face flickered through a variety of terrifying expressions. There was a wide, loving smile for a moment, quickly replaced by a sneer, which in turn shifted into a look of unbridled loathing.

"Hello, sister," she spat, the hand holding the knife twitching. "Shame of the family, blood traitor bitch!"

"Let him go," she said, her wand hot in her hand. "Let him go and leave my house."

"I'll let _it _go. Come with me, and I'll let it live."

"Don't," Ted immediately said, "Andromeda, run, get aw-"

"Shut up," Bellatrix snarled, pressing the knife flush against his throat, "Shut up, you stupid animal!"

The point of the knife pushed into his throat, a bead of blood forming and drawing Andromeda's horrified eyes.

'_I just need to stall her, just until Nymphadora comes with help.'_

She tried not to think about how few their options were with Bellatrix holding a knife to Ted's throat and using him as a human shield.

Somehow, she hoped, Nymphadora would be able to help.

"Bella," she said, "What do you expect to gain from this?"

Bellatrix's face twisted, emotions warring on her features.

"I want my sister back," she hissed, "I loved you, and you betrayed us! Come back!"

"Bella-"

"No! You put this-this abomination before your family! Do you know what you did to mother, you selfish whore? BLOOD-TRAITOR BITCH!"

'_She's working herself into one of her rages. If I don't head her off early, he won't survive.'_

"Let him go, and I'll come with you."

"No," Ted gasped, "she'll just-"

"Shut it, Mudblood."

The knife pushed even closer, touching the windpipe.

"Tricksy little traitor. No. You come with me, and I'll let him go then."

"You'll just kill us both. Let him go first, and-"

"She'll do it anyway-"

"One more word and you die," Bellatrix said, "just one, monster. Sister stealing monster."

"You-"

"I don't want to kill you," Bella said, cutting Andromeda's attempt off. "Not unless I have to. I just want you to come back to who you are. We can be sisters again, traitor. Come back to who you are, and I'll maybe we'll even let your pet Mudblood live."

'_She's going to kill him no matter what. I need to at least try.'_

"You've hated me for years," she said, the trembling in her fingers belying the cool tone of her voice. "Since I was disowned. Do you really expect me to believe that you'll put that all behind you?"

"I'm giving you a chance," Bellatrix cried, "a last chance to prove that you're more than a selfish slut. Don't make me kill you. It's not too late to show that your family is worth more than this-this freak!"

That cold centre of Andromeda's mind seemed to expand, taking over her thoughts and narrowing them to a clinical observation of the situation.

'_It'll have to be a Disarmer. Anything else and it might hit him or make her cut him.'_

"Where do you want me to go?" She asked, her fingers tightening around her wand.

"NO!" Ted screamed, "don't, do-"

"I said shut-"

She whipped her wand through the air, taking advantage of her sister's momentary distraction and non-verbally casting a Disarming Charm.

To her horror, Bellatrix blocked it with contemptuous ease.

"You just killed your little pet," she snarled, stabbing deep into Ted's throat and tearing across, slicing him open from ear to ear.

Andromeda screamed as a torrent of blood erupted, shooting out in a huge spray that coated the kitchen in seconds.

Ted's blood splattered her, a drop landing in her open mouth and making her want to vomit.

Her horrified gaze locked onto his face, the light in her husband's eyes fading even as Bellatrix hurled his body forward.

And then the fury came, sweeping through her like a whirlwind.

Her wand rose again, instinct propelling her to knock aside Bellatrix's Stunner.

And she slashed it back down, shouting an incantation she'd never used before in her life.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Azkaban, it seemed, had not dulled Bellatrix's skill.

She reacted before the Killing Curse was halfway to her, twisting out of its path and conjuring a large block of wood to take the spell.

Another Stunner shot towards Andromeda, coming so close that she felt the wind of its passing.

Yet another spell shot from Bellatrix's wand, flying straight over Andromeda's shoulder and blowing right through the kitchen wall.

"EXPULSO!" She cried, the table that Ted had carved exploding just in front of Bellatrix. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"YOU'D KILL YOUR OWN SISTER OVER AN ANIMAL?" Bellatrix shrieked, a strange, rope-like spell erupting from her wand.

"MURDERER!" She howled back, the sight of Ted's body splayed across the floor driving all rational thought from her mind.

She managed to cast a Shield Charm just before the ropes would have hit her: they dissipated, destroying her shield as they did.

Her wand snapped forward, the most powerful cutting curse that she could cast flying toward her sister.

"MUM!"

Nymphadora screeched as she entered the kitchen, a horrific wail that instinctively pulled Andromeda's attention, her head whipping around.

Nymphadora hadn't come alone. A tall black wizard who Andromeda thought was also an Auror stood beside her, his wand lashing out in Bellatrix's direction.

A searing, intensely hot pain shot through her wand hand, her knees buckling under the weight of it.

Falling to the floor, Andromeda looked down and saw what her distraction had cost her.

Her hand had been sliced through just below the fingers as neatly as if it was a piece of parchment.

Whatever it was, she realized, the curse must have cauterized her flesh as it cut: no blood was spurting from her severed fingers.

She twisted her body around, barely managing to keep from falling as she scrabbled for her wand with her left hand.

Nymphadora was screaming, furiously waving her wand and trying to battle Bellatrix. The black wizard was fighting as well, spells hurtling from his wand.

Another one of those ropes erupted from Bellatrix's wand, curling around Andromeda's neck and dragging her over to her insane sister just as something hit Nymphadora, throwing her back to crash into what was left of the wall.

The wizard yelled, a purple curse flying from his wand.

Bellatrix jumped forward, hand flying toward Andromeda even as her wand spun, making one of the cabinets shoot from the wall and crash into the wizard.

Bellatrix seized Andromeda by the hair, tugging her back and twisting.

The last thing Andromeda saw before she was pulled into Apparition was her daughter jumping up, weeping and casting a spell too late.

* * *

Another terrified scream echoed through the prison, cutting off as suddenly as it had begun and returning a silence that was all the worse.

Calder Primrose huddled up against the wall of his cell, a fist jammed into his mouth to muffle his fearful whimpers.

He had never belonged in Azkaban. He'd never been like one of those murderers or rapists, had never really meant to hurt anyone.

He'd never deserved to be locked in a cell while people died all around, helpless and afraid.

Calder had enjoyed a ten-year career as one of the best smugglers in Britain, mostly in creatures deemed non-tradable, but he'd occasionally dabbled in importing potions ingredients and books declared illegal as well.

He'd never been too much of a threat, never being one of those fools who snuck dragon eggs over borders. He'd always dealt in mostly harmless creatures. All he'd ever wanted to do was make a few Galleons, and was that really so bad?

He'd been good at it, never even being suspected by the Ministry, not until it had happened.

It hadn't even been his fault, not really.

His landlady had been suspicious about some of the people who'd visited him and had snuck into his room one day while he was out, putting her grubby paws all over his stuff, reading his carefully coded ledgers.

He had to admit, the height of his stupidity had been leaving the key to his code where someone could find it.

Still, she shouldn't have been snooping around his stuff.

Well, she'd read all his writings and gone through his things, and had confronted him when he'd returned home that day.

It was her fault, not his. She'd tried to blackmail him, and he'd panicked.

He hadn't had a choice, she'd backed him into a corner.

If wouldn't have been so bad, if only he'd been better with his Memory Charm.

She'd been placed in St Mungo's the next morning, after arriving in the dining room weeping because she hadn't known who she was.

He should have scarpered after that, he knew. He should have run, gone to France or Germany or anywhere where he had contacts.

But he hadn't. And that snooping bitch had been healed less than a week later, and everything had come crashing down on him.

Twenty years in Azkaban, that's what he'd been sentenced. Twenty years, just for one messed up charm and for ignoring the ministry's idiotic restrictions.

Well, he was now four years into his sentence. Four years of being locked in this hellish nightmare, trapped with his furious, terrified thoughts.

But none of the horrors the last four years had brought even held a candle to what had been happening tonight.

It had started less than half an hour previously, with frantically shouted incantations sounding through the halls. As far as he'd been able to tell over the last four years, there were always about five human guards in Azkaban.

He'd heard as they did battle with...something, their screams and curses growing steadily more hysterical until there was nothing but silence.

Since then, the Dementors had been far more active than usual. He'd seen them gliding past his cell, making that death-rattle noise of theirs as they spread out.

And every so often, another scream started, a scream which would invariably cut off right as it reached a fever-pitch.

The murky light from the corridor outside his cell dimmed and he felt the cold coming again.

Shuddering, his stomach feeling hot and heavy, he pushed up against the wall, the rough stone rubbing uncomfortably through his tunic.

The Dementor stopped at his cell, its cowl turned toward the bars.

'_I'm going to die. Something's happened and they're attacking the prisoners, I shouldn't even be here and I'm going to die!'_

His heart pounded in his ears, his shaking hand scratching against his teeth.

The Dementor stayed there for a few moments, staring at him with its eyeless gaze.

Then it moved on, swooping away from his cell and making that horrific noise.

Exhaling heavily, he dropped back onto his bed, the constant noise of the waves lapping against the shore filtering through the wall again.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, human footsteps drawing nearer.

And then a man was standing in front of his cell.

He gasped as he took in the man's appearance, his bladder suddenly making urgent demands of him.

He was tall, wearing a robe almost as dark as a Dementor's, a long wand clutched in one hand, an aura of power and fear emanating from him.

But it was his face that drew Calder's terrified eyes, his face that made Calder's skin crawl.

The eyes were blood-red, the nose nothing more than two slits in skin that was pulled tight against a hairless skull.

And Calder knew who it was.

"What is your name?" You Know Who asked, his voice making the hairs on Calder's arms stand up.

"C-Calder Primrose, s-sir."

"Do you know who I am?"

He nodded frantically, dimly aware that he wasn't going to be killed out of hand, not if You Know Who was bothering to talk to him.

"I-I do."

"Good. How would you like revenge, Calder? How would you like a chance to punish the miserable society that placed you in this hole?"

'_A way out, this is a way out, he'll let me go!'_

"I'd l-like that a lot."

"Join me," You Know Who hissed, "join me and you will have that chance. Obey my orders, fight at my command, and I will free you."

"I-I will, I'll do anything you want. "

'_I just need to get out here, and I can go, I can-'_

"You are thinking about taking me up on my offer and then fleeing the country, are you not?"

"No! No, I want to help-"

"Do not lie. Lord Voldemort is not known for his patience."

"I-"

"You will join me," You Know Who said, fingering his wand, "and you will serve me. If I remove you from this cell, you are mine. Mind, body, and spirit. You will not flee, not unless I give permission. You will do exactly as I say, and nothing more or less. Do you understand?"

"I just-I just want to get out, I-"

"Your choice," You Know Who hissed, "is a lifetime in my service or being fed to the Dementors. These are your options. You have five seconds."

"I'll do it," he cried, "I'll do whatever you say, just don't-don't give me to them! Anything you want!"

"Very well," You Know Who said, waving his wand carelessly and turning the bars at the entrance of his cell to smoke. "Remember the promises you have made, and you will have your revenge. Betray your word and you will wish you had never been born."

* * *

The pain faded, the utter agony that had totally encapsulated her vanishing, leaving her shaking and with dots dancing before her eyes.

A hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head forward and shaking it.

"Come on," one of her captors yelled, "Just tell us! We know you keep watch on Potter and his family, now tell us where they are!"

Arabella shook her head, tears welling up again and making her captors' appearances blur.

It was hard to believe that less than an hour previously she'd received an owl warning her that she might be in danger. She'd barely had time to get dressed, pack a bag, and break out her hunting knife before the door opened and a bright red light was hurtling towards her.

After that, she'd been woken up, lying on the floor with three masked and hooded figures surrounding her, one of them with bloody claw marks along his exposed hand.

It was then that she'd noticed the small, still form on the floor.

They'd killed Mr Tibbles.

Before she'd even had the chance to say anything, one of them had cast the Cruciatus.

And when she refused to answer his questions after he lifted the curse, he'd cast it again.

And again.

A fist slammed into her face, her upper lip grinding against teeth and her nose making a crunching sound as it broke.

Blood began to trickle down, slightly cooler against her chin than the pain spreading from her poor nose.

"Listen to me, you squib bitch," he rasped, "tell us what we want to know and we won't hurt you."

"Much," one of the other Death Eaters added with a chuckle.

'_They're going to kill me anyway. I'm not telling them anything.'_

She spat in his face, her bloody spittle just missing one of the mask's eyeholes.

His fist shot forward again, sending her reeling back.

"Stupid bitch," he said. "Crucio!"

It wracked her again, the terrible pain that was so much worse than anything she had ever imagined.

A thousand white-hot knives stabbing into her every inch of skin, her nerves screaming in torment as pure agony tore through her.

She was spasming, her legs beating a mad tattoo against her carpeted floor, the wails bursting from her throat making her feel like her vocal cords were going to rip.

Time lost all meaning, the only thought in her mind a frantic wish for death to end this nightmare.

An eternity passed before the curse was lifted, the sudden surcease of anguish almost as shocking as its beginning.

Very slowly, her vision cleared, the last shivers of pain fading.

The Death Eater who had cast the curse kicked her in the ribs, hard enough that she felt the crack as at least one broke.

Then he squatted, his wand pointed at one of her arms.

"Everyone knows that the Cruciatus can drive you insane," he said. "But most people don't know that it won't happen if you give a few minutes break between each use of the curse. We can stay like this for hours, days even. You know that you'll break eventually, you know that you'll beg to tell us what you know. Save yourself the pain and just tell us now."

"Fuck off," she snarled.

He shook his head in mock disappointment, touching his wand's tip to her trembling arm.

There was a yowling howl, and from the corner of her eye she saw a small, light-coloured shape flying at one of the Death Eaters with claws extended.

"Snowy, no!" She cried, unable to tear her eyes away.

The Death Eater kicked out, sending Snowy hurtling across the room.

"NO!"

His wand flashed, and Snowy's neck twisted to an impossible angle.

"NO! NO! N-"

"Shut up!"

He pushed his wand against her arm, muttering something she couldn't quite catch.

A deep, thick cut appeared on her arm, flaps of skin pulling away from each other.

"NO! STOP! STOP, STOP, DON'T!"

"Shut up!"

The gash grew, a long line spreading from the top of her wrist to just below the elbow.

His hand dug down, fingers gripping and twisting at the muscle _inside_ of her arm.

Her back arched, the tendons on her neck standing out as she howled her pain to the uncaring walls.

She tried to rip her arm out of his grasp, but his hold was too tight. With a loud snap and a flash of fresh, nauseating agony, the bone broke.

He rubbed his bloody fingers on her tearstained face and stood up, his wand coming out again.

"Squib bitch!" He spat, and stomped on her broken arm.

For a moment or two, blissful unconsciousness claimed her, the world vanishing in a haze of darkness.

Then his foot collided with her broken nose again, and she snapped back into reality, sobbing the hoarse cries of a wounded beast.

"CRUC-"

"NO!" She screamed, "I'LL TALK, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU WANT! JUST DON'T DO THAT AGAIN!"

"POTTER'S MUGGLE FAMILY!" He roared, kicking her in the side again, "WHAT'RE THEIR NAMES?"

"D-Dursley," She babbled, her unbroken arm rising into a useless protective gesture, "Ver-Vernon and Petunia Dursley and their son D-Dudley. They-"

"LIAR!"

Another kick to her broken arm, black shapes flying up in her vision and vomit trying to rise in her throat.

"I swear," she sobbed, "I promise, it's them, Petunia E-Evans, Lily's s-sister, she married Vernon Dursley! I swear!"

"Yeah? Where do they live?"

She only hesitated for a second, but that was long enough to make him kick her in the side again.

"WHERE?"

"Num-number four," she gasped, "number four, Privet Drive."

"Good," He said, reaching down and patting her on the head like she was a dog, "good girl."

His wand rose again, green motes forming at the tip.

"Avada-"

"Wait! Macnair, we might need to ask her a few more questions!

The green light dissipated, the terror in her belly loosening just a drop.

"Besides, he wants them as soon after they're dead as possible. It might even be worth it to take them in alive."

The Death Eater before her who she now knew to be Walden Macnair nodded curtly before slashing his wand at her.

"Stupefy!"

And Arabella Figg was plunged into blessed nothingness.

* * *

Edgar Proudfoot stifled a yawn as he arrived, stumbling out of the fireplace in his house with his mind still reeling. It had been the most insanely eventful evening in his time as an Auror, and he'd been part of the force back before You Know Who had...vanished.

It had started with Scrimgeour asking him and a select few to stay late that evening, with no indication as to why it was necessary.

It was made all the more suspicious by the fact that none of the Aurors he privately dubbed 'Fudge's crew' had been asked to stay as well.

Well, he and Savage had suspected Scrimgeour of being in touch with Dumbledore after his strange behaviour over the last few days, but they certainly hadn't been prepared for anything like what they witnessed.

You Know Who himself, duelling Dumbledore in the Department of Mysteries while Death Eaters escaped.

Proudfoot had been on the fence about You Know Who's return, at least until Dumbledore had decided to free Gellert fucking Grindelwald.

That was when Proudfoot had become certain that Dumbledore was lying.

And then You Know Who had made an appearance in the Ministry itself.

And afterwards, Dumbledore had appointed Scrimgeour as Minister.

He could have taken over, Proudfoot knew. At that moment, after everyone had seen him going toe to toe with You Know Who himself, after apparently neutralizing half a dozen Death Eaters, no one would have done more than make a token arguments

But Dumbledore hadn't taken over.

And then You Know Who had struck back.

Proudfoot frowned as he walked over to the stairwell.

He supposed it was better for everything to be put in the open, frustrating though it was to deal with. Ridiculous as it was, he just couldn't help wishing that Dumbledore hadn't forced You Know Who to come into the open and escalate so much.

'_Idiot,' _he told himself, _'It's better that we know what we're dealing with. False peace isn't peace. If You Know Who had stayed hidden, he'd just be causing chaos from the shadows, without us knowing what's actually happening.'_

Still, he wished that he could have just continued to pretend that everything was alright instead of fighting a war.

Oh, the giant had been easy enough to deal with. There were over twenty Aurors and hit-wizards there, not to mention Dumbledore. The giant hadn't known what had hit it.

Of course, they were too late to stop it crushing over a dozen cars and tearing right through the motorway, but they'd managed to prevent further damage at least.

He was beyond glad that he wasn't a member of the Obliviation or Muggle-Worthy Excuse squads. They were going to have one hell of a time explaining away all the destruction.

His legs were aching by the time he reached the second-floor landing, his muscles crying for rest.

His night hadn't ended with the giant being taken down, much as he'd been ready to collapse by then.

Along with a few others, he'd been sent to help the Azkaban squad, and he knew he'd have nightmares about it for years to come.

The prison had been practically empty, the vacant halls seeming even colder and more disturbing than when they'd been teeming with Dementors.

It had radiated with icy menace, the twining corridors looking ready to swallow him whole.

The emptiness of the vast complex had made it all the more horrifying than the last time he'd been there, the lack of Dementors almost as frightening as their presence.

There had been six prisoners found, no sign of the other thirty-five or the five guards to be spotted.

And all the prisoners they'd recovered had been Kissed, nothing more than soulless husks.

He yawned again, hoping that Elizabeth was asleep. Much as he wanted to tell his wife about the radical changes that had happened over that night, Edgar wanted to sleep more.

Gingerly, he pushed open his bedroom door, stepping in as softly as he could.

And stopped, the sharp, unmistakable smell of blood assaulting his nose.

He cast a non-verbal Lumos automatically, all thought vanishing in a haze of shapeless terror.

The tip of his wand lit up, and he fell to his knees with a pained cry.

An enormous puddle of blood covered their bed, splatters of it starting to dry on the pillow with blackish strands pooling off of the side of the mattress.

His eyes were drawn to the wall, where a particularly large blood splatter seemed to have a few hairs stuck in it.

Beside it, a skull and snake had been burned into the wall along with the message: _**The price of opposition is a heavy one.**_

A moaning, keening noise escaped his lips, his hands curling into fists as he cursed Dumbledore for forcing Voldemort into the open.

* * *

Bill grunted, twisting his wand and forcing his magic through the cracks in the Anti-Apparition Charm.

Sweat poured down his face, the furious heat of the conflagration battening his back.

Behind him, facing toward the fiery blaze of the Burrow, his parents stood side by side, frantically trying to hold off the attackers.

Curses whizzed through the air, some of them flying close enough to whip his hair back.

The heavy, almost overpowering stench of greasy smoke filled the air, a sharp pang flashing through him at the loss of his childhood home.

"BILL," his father yelled, "WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

"ALMOST DONE," he called back, ignoring the cracking flames behind him, not allowing the arson to distract him from his job.

He heard a terrible screech, a high-pitched wail of utter agony.

'_The ghoul,' _he realized, _'we didn't get it out in time.'_

His mother shrieked, mingled fury and pain in her voice.

"BILL!" His father roared again.

His magic lashed out, tearing at the Charm.

With a slash of his wand, he spoke the countercharm and pulled the Anti-Apparition Charm down.

"NOW!" He yelled, spinning around and beginning to Disapparate, the cracks of his parents' Apparition clearly heard over the din of the fight.

As he did, he caught one last glimpse of the Burrow.

Enormous flames blossomed from all the windows, lighting up the night sky and sending huge plumes of black smoke into the air.

* * *

Lord Voldemort surveyed the twenty-one prisoners, a sneer tugging at his lipless mouth.

They were begging, those still capable of speech. Asking him for mercy, as if their pathetic pleas would change his mind.

His Death Eaters had done their work well, for once. They had obeyed his orders, collecting the family members of as many members of the Order of the Phoenix, the Auror corps, and the Wizengamot as possible.

Of course, they had only collected the families of those who he knew would most likely not side with him. It would be an abject lesson, a message to the others.

Fight against me, the message said, and this is what will happen to you.

He had debated ordering for the numbers of the captives to be bolstered with Muggles, but had eventually decided against it. There would be plenty of time for that. For now, he would prefer that which would have the largest emotional impact on his enemies.

It was a pity that the Weasleys had managed to escape. By all accounts, they were very active in the Order of the Phoenix, not to mention their friendliness with Potter.

Well, there were other ways to hurt the boy.

He glanced at the three muggles huddled together in the corner of the room, the weeping woman, her disgusting husband, and their equally atrocious child.

"Please, please, you don't-"

Bellatrix cackled, kicking the captive who had spoken in the back and throwing him onto his face.

"Fenrir," Voldemort said, turning away from the spectacle.

"Yes, milord?" The wolf said, walking forward.

It was disgraceful, the company he was forced to keep. One day, Voldemort knew, Greyback and the rest of his repulsive ilk would have served out their usefulness.

He was quite looking forward to that.

"How many of your kind have you convinced?"

Fenrir shuffled his feet, looking at the floor.

"Five," he muttered.

"Five? You promised me dozens, Fenrir."

The scrawny werewolf flushed, his ears twitching.

"A lot of them-they say that Du-Dumbledore's been promising-"

"I did not ask for excuses," he hissed, "You promised me dozens, Fenrir. You will keep your promises."

"I-I will, milord. I'll-"

"Go. Whatever Dumbledore has promised, it will be nothing beside the gratitude of Lord Voldemort."

"I'll-"

"Go."

The werewolf fled.

He turned back to the prisoners, running his gaze along them.

They would certainly be enough to carry out his plan. It would have been better if Fenrir had kept his promises, but the Dementors should work almost as well. It was almost a shame that he had to sacrifice one of the Giants, but the other three had only been spurred on by their companion's death.

He had enough to make his plan work.

"Bellatrix," He said, making her turn to him immediately. "Prepare the ritual."

She broke into a wide grin, excitement brightening her face up, her blood-traitor sister forgotten.

He would have to perform the ritual as soon after the prisoners were killed as possible, but Bellatrix was already bustling away to get it ready.

It was too late for a few of the prisoners, but their corpses would still be serviceable.

He raised his wand, aiming at Potter's aunt.

If Dumbledore was bolstering his forces, it was only appropriate for him to do the same.

"Avada Kedavra!"


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Harry staggered, almost falling over as they arrived and Sirius let go of his arm.

His legs seemed to be made of jelly, the blood covering his face warm and cloying.

'_His head,' _he thought hysterically, _'it was like a rotten watermelon.'_

Sirius seemed to be speaking, but the words sounded like they were coming from somewhere far away or filtering through earplugs.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the murk and figure out where he was.

When he pulled his hand away from his face, it was covered in gore.

Staring at it, a mad urge to laugh rose up in him.

A moment later he was bent over, throwing up.

His panicked shock seemed to leave him with the contents of his stomach, his mind becoming normal again.

A hand gripped his shoulder, Sirius' voice suddenly clear and alarmed.

"Harry! Harry, are you-"

"I'm ok," he said, straightening up and wiping at his mouth. "Just…"

He gestured at himself, trying to point out the blood now beginning to dry on his cheeks and neck.

Sirius seemed to understand. Nodding, he squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"Let's get inside. Just let me find it."

While Sirius patted at his pockets, Harry looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time.

They were on what appeared to be a grassy hill, the sound of the sea coming from not too far off. The moon was bright on the few trees dotting the area around them, their branches waving lazily in the wind.

There was no house to be seen, no people around.

"Uh, Sirius? You sure this is-"

"Here. Read this."

A note was thrust in front of Harry's eyes. On it, written in Dumbledore's angular script, was the message: "_The Order of the Phoenix safe house can be found on the Gwyrrd Tawel Hill, Pembrokeshire, Wales."  
_

"Come on."

The note was pulled away and Harry looked up, not entirely surprised by what he saw.

A cottage shimmered into existence on the top of the hill, a cosy looking two-story house pushing out of nowhere.

Sirius was walking towards the house, waving his wand around and muttering under his breath. A blueish penumbra surrounded the cottage for a few seconds until Sirius rapped the front door sharply with his wand.

"Come on," he repeated, and Harry followed him in.

As they entered, a few candles caught fire in their holders, casting a dim light across the gloomy interior.

It was decorated in much the same way as Grimmauld Place was, although it seemed to be in far better condition. The carpet was not worn quite as thin, there were no cobwebs in sight, and the portrait frames gleamed on the walls.

"We never came here so often," Sirius said, running his fingers along the dust-free wall. "Maybe once a year or so. There was always Preservative Charms around. Only took them down last week."

"Why'd you remove them?"

"Preservation Charms aren't meant for occupied homes. You end up not being able to really change anything. Sounds good, until you want to get into bed and you can't move the blanket or pillows."

Harry nodded, fatigue beginning to catch up with him.

"Go have a shower," Sirius said, jerking his head towards a winding staircase at the end of the entrance hall. "First bedroom on the right, there's an en suite. Just leave your clothes in the room, I'll give them a quick clean."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking down at himself. "They're a bit too bloody."

By the time Harry finished his shower, he was feeling slightly more like a human. True to his word, Sirius had cleaned his clothes, although there still were a few darkish stains near his collar.

The Prophecy orb was still in his pocket. He held it up in the candlelight and stared at it for a few minutes.

_'All that for this little thing.'_

He found Sirius downstairs in the lounge, sitting on a couch and staring moodily into the fire with a glass of burgundy liquid.

Another full glass was perched on a table next to the couch.

"You've never been in a fight like that," Sirius stated quietly.

Harry shook his head, memories of it threatening to crowd his thoughts.

"It can be really jarring. Sit down, have a drink. We need to talk a bit. You'll only go back to Hogwarts once I get the all-clear, so you might even have a chance to get some shut-eye."

Dropping onto the couch, he grabbed the glass and took a sip.

It burned his throat going down, and he spluttered while it settled into his stomach like a small, comfortable fire.

"Easy there," Sirius said, sounding amused, "Small sips."

He took Sirius' advice, barely letting more than a few drops into his mouth before putting the glass down and leaning back.

"How come we're here? Why not at Headquarters?"

Sirius tapped his fingernail against his glass with a frown.

"Its-things are going to get very complicated, Harry. I don't know what tomorrow's going to bring. I had Dumbledore set this place up, just in case everything goes sideways."

"Headquarters is under the Fidelius too, right? So…"

"Too many people know about it. Harry, it's very likely that the Order's going to split. I guess a lot depends on what happens with the Ministry, but even if they do accept Dumbledore back, I don't see that lasting."

"Sirius. What the hell are you talking about?"

Sirius looked at him for a long moment, the fire casting strange shadows on his face.

Harry took another sip, the brandy beginning to make his mind feel fluffy.

"Look, Dumbledore's broke Grindelwald out of prison and is working with him, right? That's got a lot of people very worried."

At Harry's expression, Sirius sighed again.

"Grindelwald was one of the worst dark wizards of all time, until Voldemort. People like them, throughout history they would pop up. But they never really took more than a village or two. Sometimes a few cities. They'd take control, carve out their little kingdoms, and rule till someone killed them, ok?"

Harry nodded, sipping at his brandy again. It didn't taste quite so bad anymore.

"Grindelwald though, he was going for the world. He was involved with the Germans in that Muggle war, he had control of pretty much the entire wizarding world in Eastern Europe. He was making inroads in America and he had people working for him in Asia and North Africa. He was horrific, Harry. He was brutal, powerful, and utterly ruthless. Now Dumbledore's working with him and a lot of the older crowd remember when Grindelwald was still a threat. They lost friends and family to him."

Sirius paused to take a drink.

"So why's Dumbledore working with him?"

Wiping his mouth, Sirius grinned. "Because he's too damn useful not to. But I'm getting there. So, you've got people like Moody, whose father was captured and tortured by Grindelwald's forces. You've got McGonagall-I don't know who exactly, but she lost people to Grindelwald. You've got a lot of politicians and Wizengamot folk who remember how much Grindelwald took from us. So there's a lot of people furious with Dumbledore, and pretty afraid too."

"So Moody and McGonagall are leaving the order?"

"McGonagall's going to be focusing on keeping Hogwarts safe. We'll get to Moody in a minute."

"But-"

"Just let me explain. You wanted to know why Dumbledore broke Grindelwald out."

He nodded, holding his glass in hands that felt strangely light.

"Dumbledore realized that Voldemort isn't the only problem. The Ministry is...well, it's pretty damn broken, actually."

"Hermione said that it sounds like Dumbledore wants to-to just kill like half the government."

"She's not so wrong. It sounds terrible, and it is, really, but it's needed."

Sirius stood up and began to pace in front of the couch, his hands flying through his hair.

"I told you what my family were all like, right?"

"You said that-" Harry cleared his throat, finding it difficult to meet Sirius' eyes. "You said that they were practically Death Eaters. Your brother became one, and they were proud."

Sirius gave a snorting laugh, reaching out and snagging his glass as he passed the table.

"Yeah. You need to understand something. My parents, they were the type to be Death Eaters. They believed everything Voldemort was saying, all that shit about blood purity. But they were cowards. Didn't want to get their own hands dirty. They were happy enough to laugh about Muggleborns being killed, but they weren't going to go out and kill them themselves. So they just stayed around at home, going to garden parties and spending time with the rest of high society. Most of whom felt the same way."

Sirius drained the rest of his glass and tapped it with his wand, refilling it.

"They all felt the same way. I'm telling you, I grew up with them. Do you have any idea how many of those people were involved in politics?"

Sirius put the glass down and began naming what sounded like family members, raising a finger with each one.

When all his fingers were raised, he stopped.

"You know what dear old Bella and Regulus became," he said. "But everyone else, they were all in respectable positions in business or politics. Two of my uncles and one of my aunts were on the Wizengamot itself. My mum's cousin, Araminta, she tried to push a bill to make Muggle hunting legal. And you know, there were more than a few votes to pass it. The Ministry, the Wizengamot, they're all full of-of people like my family. You know how the Wizengamot works?"

Harry shook his head, feeling more like an idiot than ever before.

"Course not, you're fifteen and haven't grown up with people talking about it all day. Well, new members are voted in by the public. Except, first they have to be suggested by at least three pre-existing members of the Wizengamot. It's stupid as anything, but that's how it is. Oh, and under the right circumstances, it's only the Wizengamot who need to vote for it, not the public. You can bet your broomstick that if someone wants to get their friends in, they can arrange those circumstances easily enough."

"So Dumbledore wants to what? Get rid of all these people?"

"That's what it seems like. And for that-well, he can't do that and fight Voldemort at the same time. Not alone. So he broke Grindelwald out. Grindelwald, he's meant to be one of the most powerful Wizards in the world. A genius. And Dumbledore, well he's obviously got some way of controlling him. Or at least he thinks he does."

Harry took another sip of the brandy before asking: "Do you think he does?"

Sirius scratched the back of his head, his eyes distant.

"I don't think you really control a man like that. Contain him, maybe. Use him, sure. But control, no."

"What's happening with Moody?" Harry asked.

"That's where things start getting complicated. Moody's a real principled man, you've got to know that. He's got these principles he believes in enough to dedicate his life to them."

"Like catching Dark Wizards."

Sirius made an odd movement, somewhere between a nod and a shake of the head.

"That's an outgrowth of it. He believes in the law. He believes in society working, in the people deciding their fate. He wants things to be legitimate and official and democratic."

"Of course," Sirius quickly continued when Harry opened his mouth, "With Voldemort involved and the Ministry being as stupid as they are, he'll work outside the law. But the idea of someone just-just taking over and making decisions themselves, with no oversight, no representatives from the people involved, that really...doesn't work with what he wants."

"So if Dumbledore wants to take over the Ministry and reform it, Moody's out?"

"Not exactly. He's realistic enough to see the issues with the government, and he's pragmatic enough to work with Dumbledore, even if it's something he doesn't like. But with Grindelwald involved...He'd hate it, but he'd stand by while Dumbledore takes over. He won't do that if Grindelwald's with Dumbledore."

Harry digested that for a minute, taking another sip of the brandy. It actually tasted quite nice, now that his head felt like a loosely tethered balloon.

It made sense, he thought. If Moody really didn't like the type of thing Dumbledore wanted to do, and he hated Grindelwald, it would make sense for him to leave the Order. But if the Ministry was siding with Dumbledore, what could Moody do about it? Harry could imagine Snape giving points to Gryffindor easier than he could think of Moody joining Voldemort.

"So what can he even do?" He asked. "If the Ministry's with Dumbledore, and it's Voldemort on the other side, what can Moody do?"

"He can try to pull the Ministry away from Dumbledore," Sirius replied grimly, "to make a third side to this fuck-up, and he could do it. The Ministry will only work with Dumbledore and Grindelwald if they think they don't have another choice. They know they're too short-staffed to fight Dumbledore and Voldemort at the same time. Moody's got contacts in the American and Australian Auror forces. If he can convince them to send people over to help the Ministry, they'd ditch Dumbledore, probably. Plus all of the various mercenaries he's been involved with over the years. The Ministry, they're more interested in getting rid of Voldemort and keeping things the way they are than actually changing anything."

"So where does that leave us?"

"If Moody does convince the Ministry, it'll be a mess. He'd probably be able to pull Hestia and Sturgis out with him. The Ministry will know all about the Order, and everyone in it will be wanted. It'll also mean splitting the fight, dealing with both the Ministry and Voldemort at the same time."

"Sounds like total chaos," he said, stifling a yawn.

"It might be. But we'll have to wait a bit to see what happens. A lot of this also depends on what Dumbledore does. If he can show the Ministry that he's not out to just murder everyone he disagrees with, they might not listen to Moody. The problem with Moody is that he hates Grindelwald too much. Too much personal baggage there for him to think clearly."

"Do you think Moody will convince the Ministry?"

Slowly, Sirius nodded.

"They'll still be fighting Voldemort, right? And Voldemort, he'll have to fight Dumbledore and the Ministry at the same time."

"Exactly. It'll be a total fucking mess. I told you, depending on what happens over the next few days, things are going to get very, very complicated."

Harry tried to put the empty glass on the table but missed. It fell to the carpet where the last few drops spilt out.

"I think it's time for some sleep," Sirius said, standing up, "I'll wake you up when it's time to go back to Hogwarts."

* * *

Albus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling deeply.

The rising sun sent beams of light through his office windows, turning Fawkes' plumage into a kaleidoscope of colour and flame.

It had been an extremely long night. After helping deal with the rampaging giant and visiting Azkaban, he'd had a chance to meet with Rufus again before returning to his office.

He was quite pleased with the outcomes of that meeting. Clearing Sirius' name alone would have been worth it, but he'd accomplished more than that.

For the first time in almost a year, Albus found himself looking forward to the Daily Prophet.

Of course, as soon as he'd returned to Hogwarts feeling pleased, the news had started to pour in.

He'd just been meeting with Nymphadora when he'd received Arthur's Patronus. He'd rushed over to the Burrow immediately, but it was too late. The once vibrant and wonderful home had been rendered a charred and ruined wreck.

And there had been no Death Eaters to be found, no one to capture and interrogate.

Voldemort had responded far more ferociously than he'd expected. The giant attack and Azkaban had been bad enough, but they had been almost expected.

The attacks on the Order members and their families, Aurors, and governmental officials had not been.

At least, not so soon.

It was a rather clever tactic, and one Voldemort had successfully used in the past. It made Albus feel rather foolish for assuming that it would not come until later.

It would have been better, he thought, if the victims had all been killed. Instead, Voldemort had taken them, leaving their families and friends to suffer false hope and to terrify themselves with the imagined horrors their loved ones were experiencing.

It was a message to those still on the sidelines, a warning not to fight against him.

And, he suspected, it was more than that.

"There are many rituals he could be using them for," he said, "I think, however, that Inferi is the most likely case."

Gellert raised his head, his eyes aflame.

"I'm sorry," he said, "Do you want my opinion now?"

"Yes," Albus sighed, "I would appreciate it."

"Well, I think that I should have come along."

"I told you, Voldemort would not have come-"

"I am not talking about your damned ministry," Gellert spat, "You went to fight a giant! And to explore your accursed prison! And then to your followers' house! While I am left to interrogate your Ministry drones!"

"We went directly from the Ministry to the giant, and then to Azkaban-"

Gellert thumped his palm onto the table, sending papers flying every which way.

"You expect me to believe that you could not contact me? You could not send your bird?"

"I decided that it was still too early to expose the Ministry to you."

"Fuck your Ministry! Did you break me out of prison to hide me away in a school?! Or did you want me to actually do something?'

"Gellert," he said, pitching his voice low and speaking in a calming tone. "You know that-"

"I know that you have spoken endlessly about what I will do. But I know that you have kept me away from the action. Why did you break me out, Albus?"

"So that you could help me."

"No," Gellert sneered, "So that I could be your bogeyman. You want me to do all the monstrous things you are afraid to do yourself. You want to stain my conscience so that yours can remain clean."

"We have been through this, Gellert."

Gellert sighed, dropping heavily back into his chair.

"You want me to strike terror into the hearts of your enemies," he said, his voice dripping with fatigue. "And I agreed that I would do that. But I have had fifty years of the world passing me by, Albus. Fifty years of being neatly left alone while everything changed. If I am to be free, then I will not sit idly by the wayside. If you want my help, then maybe you should show it. And not only when it is convenient for you."

"I apologize. But from here on out, Gellert, you will be kept occupied. You need not fear boredom."

Muttering what sounded like German curses to himself, Gellert subsided.

"As I was saying earlier. I believe Inferi to be Voldemort's most likely use for the prisoners he has taken."

"They make for wonderful psychological tools," Gellert agreed. "Not to mention an excellent distraction."

"Indeed. By our latest estimates, he took at least twenty prisoners. And that is excluding the Azkaban inmates."

"Are you certain that he recruited them?"

"Unfortunately, there is very little that I am certain of. Severus is currently with him, and until he returns I must mostly work with guesswork."

"There are," he quickly added before Gellert could interject, "Three Death Eaters awaiting trial at the Ministry. I believe we should interrogate them. We also must speak to the management of Gringotts."

"You mentioned a Death Eater you wrote to," Gellert said, "You said that we would use him to send a warning to the rest of them."

The Elder Wand thrummed, awakened by the prospect of violence.

"I agreed to trials," he said. "There is little else the Minister wants from me."

"The Ministry is yours," Gellert wheedled. "Would they truly dare stand against you? It is needed, Albus. The Death Eaters must know the price of your enmity."

"It would give Voldemort a tool," he replied, "He would use it to pull those who have not made up their minds to his side. He would tell them that I would treat them the same."

"They took your people," Gellert whispered, "They will torture them for information before killing them. Then they will turn them into Inferi and send them to attack. They do this, and you are too frightened of the consequences to strike back?"

"Gellert-"

"They assault _your _followers'," he continued, "and you leave them be. They should fear you, Albus. The thought of you should have them wetting their finely-tailored robes. They kill your people and expect their upstart lord to protect them. Show them who you are, Albus. Let them see what I saw in you."

Albus closed his eyes, focusing on the island of serenity surrounded by his oceans of fury.

It was far more difficult than usual. Nymphadora's tear-stained, sorrowful face swam before his eyes, seamlessly merging with the vision of the Burrow's ruins.

There had been signs of a struggle in Mrs Figgs' house, not to mention the bodies of three of her pets.

Hestia's mother's apartment had been wrecked, and dear Elphias was nowhere to be found.

His rage ran hot, buoyed by Gellert's whispers and the Elder Wand's urgings.

_'Gellert wants bloodshed,'_ he reminded himself, _'that part of him is still very much alive. The Wand wants nothing but to wreak destruction.'_

"They mock you," Gellert continued, "They think you powerless, think that they are safe from you. They took those loyal to you, Albus. They took them and will defile them. Can you truly allow such an insult to stand?"

_'You gave Lucius a chance. You offered him clemency, stretched out a hand of peace. He would have killed Harry if he only had the opportunity. You offered him peace, and this is how he repays you?'  
_

"If you do not act, Voldemort will use that. He will tell his followers that need not fear reprisals. If you do not make them fear crossing you, the blood of future victims will be on your hands."

_'Lucius was entrusted with a Horcrux. He did not know what it was, but he may yet know if any of his fellows were given something as precious.'_

The Wand reached a crescendo, tugging on his mind and pushing him to act.

"You want me to be the man you knew, all those years ago. It is only fair that you act like the man I knew."

He opened his eyes.

Gellert was staring at him, his face all but glowing, the aura that Albus had once found so seductive surrounding him.

He extended his hand, letting the Elder Wand fall from his sleeve to land comfortably in his grip.

"Come. If luck is with us, we will find him at his home. It is warded enough that he surely believes it safe. Perhaps it is time that he was disabused of that notion."

Gellert followed him to his feet, a hungry grin stretching his lips.

* * *

"I understand where you are coming from," Rufus said in what he hoped was a calming tone. "I really do. But the fact is that we don't have enough people to take on Dumbledore and Grindelwald and fight Voldemort at the same time. Not to mention that a war on two fronts is exponentially more difficult than fighting one enemy at a time."

"You're giving the Ministry to him!" Moody growled, "To him and Grindelwald!"

"I have a deal with him," he said, "he's going to leave the government alone."

"Maybe Albus would do that," Moody quickly replied, "But if he's working with Grindelwald, you can't trust him. Everything he said in the Prophet, everything he's been telling us in the Order, you really think he'll just forget about that?"

"He said-"

"He's working with Grindelwald! Can you really trust a thing he'd say after that?"

"I think-"

"Listen to me," Interrupted Moody, "Listen. Dumbledore, he promised to leave the government to you. But when this fight carries on for a while, people will start seeing it as Dumbledore versus You Know Who. They're not going to look at it as the Ministry, they'll see it as Dumbledore. And when, if, we win, Dumbledore's going to take over. And if he's still with Grindelwald, England's not going to be a very nice place to be."

"It's Dumbledore," Rufus said. "You're treating him like he's a monster. It's Dumbledore."

Moody scowled, the wreckage of his face twisting.

"He's working with Grindelwald," he said in a patient tone. "He broke a monster out of prison, and he seems to trust him. Even the things he's been saying, all his bollocks about cleansing the nation and cleaning the infection. It's the exact same stuff You Know Who says, just aimed at different people."

"Even so-"

"Dumbledore is a good man. But I don't trust anyone to have total control of the country. Because then, the only thing standing in his way is his morals. And with Grindelwald involved, I don't see those remaining for too long."

Moody shook his head, staring at the map of Britain on Rufus' new office wall.

"I despise this government," he said quietly, "and almost everything about it. But at least it lets the people have a say. At least it's not up to the whims of one man."

"Again. You're making good points, and these are ideas that worry me as well. But we still don't have the manpower. Dumbledore got the other European countries to back away, and we simply don't have enough people. It's a choice between fighting Dumbledore or fighting You Know Who, and Dumbledore's the better of the two."

"How much of a choice is that? Dumbledore's already been talking about getting rid of everyone he doesn't like, and I don't think you understand that he's got Grindelwald working with him! Grindelwald, the man with more blood on his hands than You Know Who! HE KILLED TENS OF THOUSANDS HIMSELF!"

"We still don't have the-"

"What if I could get you manpower?"

He shook his head, smiling sadly.

"We'd need a lot of people."

"My contacts in the American Aurors say that they'd be able to send at least a hundred, maybe even two. You'd need to speak to the president, of course, but the same way they intervened in Pakistan and the Congo, they'd help us. They say that the Canadians would probably send as well, and I'm damn sure that we could get the Australians involved too. If you give the cash, I know ten mercenaries between jobs. And I can bring two members from the Order of the Phoenix, so you'd have everything we know about Dumbledore's plans."

After a moment, Rufus realized that his mouth was hanging half-open.

He closed it, giving his head a brisk shake.

"The same way that they intervened in Pakistan and the Congo," he said, "Right. Tell me, how much control do the Pakistani and Congolese currently have over their own government? It's been twenty years since the Congo situation, and they're still run by an American!"

"You need the help, they-"

"We always rejected their help in the past," he interrupted. "Because they don't stop talking about helping us maintain democracy. We know what that means."

"It still is better than the alternatives. Without them, you'll be lucky if you're left with half the government at the end. And you really think Grindelwald will let Dumbledore only kill the guilty? I know how he works. He'll use every death to send a message to those opposing him. It's what he always did. He'll torture them, make the very idea of standing up to him too frightening to think of. You're standing by and giving them free rein."

"I don't want Dumbledore as my enemy," he said. "Particularly not if he is planning on keeping to his part of the deal."

Moody snarled, Rufus' hand instinctively clutching for his wand at the sound.

Moody stood up, his wooden leg clanking as he walked toward the door and spoke without turning around.

"Just think about it. But remember, the longer you take, the more comfortable the people become with Dumbledore leading them. You're giving this country to him."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned to face Rufus, his normal eye alight with fanatic, furious hatred.

When he spoke, his voice was dripping with disgusted contempt.

"Mark my words, you'll change your mind. But by then the blood will already be running in the streets."

* * *

"I must say, Lucius, I really was rather impressed with the level of security. I feel certain it would have stopped the average wizard."

"Pity that neither of us are average wizards," Gellert added, leaning against one of the walls and fingering his wand.

Lucius and Narcissa were kneeling in the centre of the ornate Persian carpet, the couches and armchairs having been moved to give Albus and Gellert a clear view of the captives from anywhere in the room.

The two prisoners kept their faces downcast, the splintered shards of their wands lying before them.

Behind them, the fire crackled merrily, returned to its usual colour after Albus had deactivated the Floo.

Staring down at them, Gellert couldn't help but feel the usual excitement, the anticipatory trembling of his heart as that old sensation of power and might coursed through him.

He and Albus had arrived in the nick of time, just as the Malfoys had been about to escape. From what they could tell so far, Lucius had only arrived home a short while previously. Voldemort had obviously kept those stupid enough to follow him busy.

The hastily-packed bags they had been carrying were strewn just outside the lounge, clothes and coins spilling through the fresh holes in their sides.

"I do wonder, though," Albus continued, "Why you felt it necessary to return here? You are a cunning man, Lucius. I feel safe in assuming that you and your lovely wife were escaping to somewhere more secure, but surely you had a method of contacting her? Surely you could have simply asked her to meet you wherever it was you were going?"

Neither of the prisoners answered.

"Lucius. Do not force me to tear the information from you. You _will_ tell me what I want to know. It is your choice what will precipitate that."

"Lucius made it clear that I was not to trust any communication from him," the wife suddenly said, looking up with her pale hair framing her face. "The possibility of the Dark Lord's plan going wrong was too high. Only if it was him, in person, and I had verified that it was truly him, only then would I listen to what he had to say."

"Narcissa"- her husband started, but she silenced him with a glare before turning her attention to Albus.

"We will tell you everything, just spare us. Allow us to take Draco and leave the country, and we will tell you everything we know."

"What are Voldemort's plans?"

Gellert sneered as they both flinched.

His sneer only grew when Lucius hesitated, shivering slightly.

Albus caught his eye and gave a soft nod.

He detached himself from the wall, getting a nice grip around his wand as he slowly walked over to the cringing couple.

With complaints from his knees, he dropped into a squat before them, gently pushing the man's chin up with the tip of his wand.

His eyes were wide, intoxicatingly terrified.

_'This. I missed this.' _

"Albus says that you are a reasonably good Occlumens," he said, keeping his voice soft and calm. "You know, of course, that even an exceptionally talented Occlumens will not be able to maintain it under torture. I have seen it before, many times. You can see it in their eyes, the moment they break. It's like a candle going out, as they realize that they are going to give in. All their courage and bravery, it vanishes with the last vestiges of their self-image. They realize, you see, that they are nothing. Weak, powerless, and unable to hold it."

"Lucius-"

Quick as an asp, he moved, grabbing the wife by her hair and pulling her head up and back, exposing her throat to the probing end of his wand.

"Stop! Please-"

"What I have learned," he said, overriding her voice with his own, "is that the quickest way to break someone is to hurt the people they care about. You don't want to see your pretty little wife turned into a wailing wreck, do you?"

"Please," Lucius said, pale as snow, "don't-"

"Answer the questions," he snarled. "And there will be no need for it. What are Voldemort's plans?"

"Tell us, Lucius," Albus said. "Just tell us."

"I don't know specifics. None of us do. He's going to turn the prisoners into Inferi, use them to attack Hogsmeade or Diagon. He is unleashing the Dementors into Muggle areas. He is trying to get more werewolves onto his side, but he has given Greyback free reign to attack whoever he wishes, with specific exceptions."

Lucius swallowed thickly, his eyes closed.

"What of the Azkaban inmates?" Albus asked.

"Most of them agreed to serve him. The rest were given to the Dementors and will be turned into Inferi. Please, just-"

"He gave you a diary," Albus said, taking a step closer. "What did he tell you it was?"

"I can't," Lucius whispered, shaking his head, "He'll-"

Albus nodded at him.

Lucius cut himself off, his mouth clanging closed and eyes widening as Gellert waved his wand.

The wife's muscles tensed up, the veins in her throat standing out against her pale skin as she began to shriek, her legs beating out a drumroll against the carpet.

Albus twitched his wand and ropes appeared, snaking their way around her and holding her in place.

Her wordless shrieks reached a crescendo, her hands knocking wildly against the floor.

"STOP IT, PLEASE-"

With a wave of his wand, a Silencing Charm attached itself to Lucius.

"She thinks that she is on fire," he said, raising his voice and ensuring that he could be heard over the screams. "She can feel the flames licking at her, consuming her flesh. Of course, there is no damage being done to her. It is not quite as painful as the Cruciatus, but it can be used for far longer."

He waited for a few minutes, watching as the tears appeared and began to overflow.

"I am going to remove the curse," he said, "and I will give you a chance to answer. If you do not, then I will have to use another tactic."

He jerked his wand in her direction and waited, giving her a chance to realize that her body was unmarred.

As her shrieks died down to sobs, he removed the Silencing Charm.

"What did Voldemort tell you about the diary?"

"That-that I was to guard it with my life. One day, he said, I would send it to Hogwarts on his orders, where it would lead to the Chamber of Secrets being opened. But until then, I was to die rather than lose it."

"And after eleven years of believing him dead, you decided the time was ripe to send it to Hogwarts," Albus said.

Lucius nodded, barely a tinge of his proud nobility remaining.

"Did Voldemort ever give you or anyone else something to guard? Something that he treated with as much care as he did the diary."

Panic shot over Lucius' face for a second, before being blotted out.

"No."

"Liar," Snarled Gellert, waving his wand at the wife again.

She sat up, her face even paler than before, her hands flying up and clawing at her throat.

She let out a coughing sound, her eyes bulging.

"She will be allowed to breathe when you tell us the truth."

"He didn't, I swear, I swear-"

"I swear that your wife will die unless you tell us the truth!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"Gellert," Albus said in a worried tone, "she-"

Burning fury engulfed him, his head shooting around to face Albus.

"If you want me to actually do anything," he spat, "then you'll allow me to work!"

He spun around again, waving his wand and letting her fall to the floor gasping.

"I don't-"

"You won't be able to hide it forever," he said, reaching it and stroking the side of Lucius' face.

You know you're going to break and just tell me what I want. Save yourself and your wife the pain, and just tell me now."

"I-I promise-"

"I don't believe you. Understand me, Malfoy. I was breaking men stronger than you when your father was a child. You think Nurmengard robbed me of my skills? It just made me more inventive."

He stood up, striding over the woman. She saw him coming and tried to crawl away, but Albus' ropes kept her from moving more than a meter or two.

"Gellert," whispered Albus, "he may not actually know."

"He does," he said, "I'm sure of it."

He jabbed his wand forward, knocking her to the floor with the air whooshing from her lungs. Before she could move any further, he placed his foot on her chest, pressing his weight down until he could feel her ribs pushing back.

"Please, I don't-"

"You are a liar," he said, "and your wife will suffer as a result."

"Lucius!" She cried, "Just tell him, tell them before-"

He slashed his wand, pushing all of his weight onto his leg and breaking her ribs at the same time as he sliced the fingers off of her left hand.

She erupted into a terrible, harrowing cry, blood squirting from the stumps of her fingers and splattering her husband's face.

"Tell the truth, and I'll heal them. Keep lying and I'll take her hand next. Then the arm."

"LUCIUS!"

"I'LL TELL YOU," Lucius bellowed, "I SWEAR, I'LL TELL YOU, JUST-"

He was waving his wand before Lucius even finished, sending the severed fingers flying over her hand.

Skin formed, cascading up and reconnecting them.

They wouldn't be quite as useful as if they'd never been removed, but it was certainly good enough for the moment.

"I'll fix her ribs after you talk," he promised.

"He gave a cup to Bellatrix," Lucius babbled, "As a reward for her service. She was to place it in her vault in Gringotts. Please, that's all, I swear-"

"And did she?"

"She couldn't, she was wanted by then, but I took it there for her. That's how I know, she wasn't meant to tell anyone, but-"

"Describe the cup," Albus interrupted.

"It-it was gold. With two handles. And there was a-a badger embossed on it."

"And you put it in Bellatrix's vault?'

"Yes. The goblins, I told them to add every security measure they could."

"He would not have placed two in Gringotts," Albus said, "it is already foolish of him to have given two to his followers. Very well, Lucius-"

Gellert slashed his wand through the air, a large bubble of air forming around the prisoners as he spun to face Albus.

"You can't let them go," he hissed, "Voldemort will find them, and he will discover exactly what we were told. He'll know we're searching for them."

"Gellert, I promised Rufus-"

"They took your people. You offered this worm a chance to survive, and he rejected it. Use him, Albus. Use him to send a warning to the rest of them. Let them know who you are. Let them know not to stand against you."

He could see the emotions warring on Albus' face, the desire and longing fighting against his self-control.

In Albus' hand, the Wand that Gellert had once owned gave a twitch.

"You don't get to keep me away from everything and then ignore what I have to say," he said. "If you want my help, then you will actually trust what I have to say. They took your people, Albus. They took your people, and they think you are powerless. Show them why they should fear you."

Very slowly, as if his neck was a rusty hinge, Albus nodded.

* * *

Bartholomew Finch hurried through Knockturn Alley, keeping his head down and his hood up.

This was not a good time to be seen in Knockturn. The morning edition of the Prophet had already circulated, spreading its news of You Know Who's return and Dumbledore being accepted back into the Ministry.

There had also been a bunch of preliminary reports of major attacks. It seemed to Bartholomew that You Know Who wasn't waiting for the Ministry and Dumbledore to have a chance to get organized.

All the more reason not be seen in an area like Knockturn.

He'd already had one hag try to pull him off the road. She'd taken him by surprise, grabbing him around the neck while snarling something about the Dark Lord, and only his quick wit and a hasty Stunner had kept her from doing who knows what with him.

It was certainly foolish for him to be there, but Bartholomew had made a tidy living for the last few years selling his own recipe of off-market Euphoria Elixir, and there were very few stores where the ingredients he needed could be bought.

At least, there were very few stores where the ingredients he needed could be bought without a license and without the Ministry being told.

He was almost at Shyverwretch's when it happened.

The alley gave an almighty lurch as an incredibly loud bang sounded, an enormous mass of thick white fog suddenly appearing right before him.

He was thrown back, his wand dropping from his fingers as he landed roughly with his back on the uneven cobblestones.

He dimly heard someone screech, but everything around him seemed to be shaking and twisting.

He lay there until the sky had stopped spinning and then slowly got to his feet, picking up his wand and rubbing his head just below the ear.

As if in a dream, he walked forward, a shocked exclamation dropping from his numb lips as the fog cleared.

Two figures were there, bound with their backs to large wooden poles.

Their clothes had been removed from above the waist, but even though the one on the right was a particularly fine figure of a woman, it was their heads that drew his horrified eyes.

Their faces were shimmering, shifting with terrible speed between normal skin and flesh and the grinning visage of a bleached skull.

Somehow, he knew with absolute certainty that this was no illusion. Somehow, their faces were actually being torn from their bones, just for a second at a time.

They both saw him at the same time and focused on him, their eyes widening and mouths bulging.

He took a step back, gasping and cursing as he recognised them.

He'd never had much to do with them, being part of an entirely different social class as he was, but Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were not the type of people one forgot.

As if they had planned it and synced their timing together, their mouths distended as one, Narcissa making a keening noise as their lips parted.

It took Bartholomew a few seconds to understand what it was he was seeing, but when he did he fell to his knees, nausea making his gorge rise.

Their tongues had been Transfigured into snakes, living snakes that tried to slither out and that hissed at him.

From his vantage point on the ground, he noticed something else.

Lucius' left arm had been pulled flush against his chest, propped in such a way that it was clearly broken.

His inner arm was facing out, and Bartholomew could clearly see the tattoo that marred the skin, the tattoo that had been so expertly parodied on his head.

Narcissa's body began to shake against its bonds, the snake in her mouth hissing as she wept.

_'Today,' _Bartholomew thought hysterically, _'was not a good day to do my shopping.'_


	10. Chapter 9

**AN: **And…we're back. I'm sorry it took so long, I got caught up in my other WIP. That story is finished now, so I can focus entirely on this. I don't know if I'll be able to keep to my original plan of one chapter a week, but I highly doubt there'll be another four month+ wait.

Thanks for your patience!

* * *

Chapter 9

"We made a mistake," Albus said, holding the Elder Wand up and allowing it to fill his entire field of vision. "We should not have done that, Gellert. The actions we took, the brutality we exhibited…many unintended consequences will strike at us. We crossed a line."

"Feh," Gellert spat, waving a hand irreverently, "you gave them nothing less than what they deserved. Leaving your enemies alive would have been foolishness of the highest order."

"Lucius certainly deserved to die. Narcissa may not have. What we did to them, however, was not an execution. It was an atrocity, nothing less."

Barking out a harsh laugh, Gellert rose and began to pace in front of Albus' chair with his hands flexing convulsively.

"Shall I tell you what an atrocity is, Albus? You know nothing of crossing lines, nothing of exhibiting brutality. _I _do. And I say that we acted appropriately."

"It was wrong," Albus said, lowering the wand and fixing his gaze upon Gellert's face. "And we should not have done it."

"It was necessary! Your enemies must learn to tremble at the very thought of you, they must know that death is preferable to crossing you! How do you plan to achieve that without giving them a symbol? Now, whenever they think to act against you, they will remember the Malfoys and they will falter. What we did was entirely needed."

Albus' eyes closed, a shudder shaking his body.

"I have never wanted to be an object of fear," he whispered. "I only ever wished to sway the people with my ideas, not with force."

His head rocked back suddenly, a burning pain shooting through his cheek.

He was on his feet before his eyes had even opened, his wand aimed at Gellert.

Defiance seemed to radiate from Gellert, a sneer twisting his lips as he rubbed life back into his hand.

"Wake up, Albus," he hissed. "You have decided to drag this country into morality. How did you possibly expect to do that without frightening them? Did you think your talk of love would inspire them to cast aside their greed? Did you think that Voldemort would surrender if he sees that you are willing to fight? Wake up, or you will receive far worse than a slap in the face."

His heart began to calm, the adrenaline that had momentarily flooded him beginning to recede.

"Threats, Gellert? I thought you better than that."

Gellert's eyes blazed with an inner fire, his nostrils flaring as he took a step toward Albus and spoke with a voice as cold as ice.

"Not a threat. A promise. If you are not willing to do whatever is necessary, you are going to lose, Albus. Do you even know what that means? Do you have any idea what it means to watch your work crumble around you? Yes, what you did to the Malfoys was unjust. But you do not have the luxury of relying on _justice_ to take its course. You must do whatever is necessary to ensure that Voldemort falls to you."

The Elder Wand hummed in his hand, vibrating softly at the siren's call of justified violence.

"It is not necessary for me to adopt my enemies' tactics. Torture for the sake of inspiring fear is not-"

Growling something that sounded vaguely like a German insult, Gellert spun around, lashing out and punching the wall hard enough to make the whole shack rattle.

"Why did you break me out? So that you could ignore my advice and treat me like the devil on your shoulder? LISTEN TO ME, GODDAMNIT!"

"I did not free you so that I could become you at your worst-"

"You miserable, self-righteous bastard," Gellert hissed, his voice colder than Albus had ever heard it. "You are perfect in all ways, is that it? You could never become a monster, not the great Albus Dumbledore. That's what I'm for, so that you have someone else to blame for anything immoral that you do!"

"While you," Albus said, the anger he now felt making the wand vibrate harder in his hand, "are so egotistical that if I so much as express any self-doubt you can perceive it as nothing but a personal attack."

"Did you really believe that you would be able to take control of this miserable country of yours and defeat this upstart so-called dark lord without crossing any boundaries? Whatever happened to the man willing to conquer the world by my side?"

The anger draining out of him and leaving only fatigue and the full weight of his age, Albus shook his head and spoke softly.

"He died along with his sister."

"Then what is your plan? How do you possibly think to achieve your goals if you will not do what is necessary?"

Albus dropped back into his chair, the Elder Wand disappearing up his sleeve.

"Originally," Albus said, "I was planning on fighting Voldemort while dealing with the corruption that so infects this country. But with the change of Minister, it may be that I will not have to simply take control."

"Why don't you? You could do a far better job than any of them."

Albus stared at the bare wall, remembering the arguments he'd had with himself so many times over so many decades.

"Men such as us, Gellert, possess far more intelligence and magical skill than the average witch and wizard. But we are still men. We are not gods; we are not infallible or omniscient. And the mistakes we make have far greater consequences."

"But-"

"It would be all too easy," Albus interrupted, "for me to simply rule over them. How many chances was I given to do just that? but if I were to seize that power, there would be nothing to keep me in check, no-one to call me to task if I were to become tyrannical."

"And so you will allow them to mire themselves deeper in their corruption and ruin this land even further."

"The Ministry is aware that I will no longer sit idly by the wayside," he said, forcing himself to be patient. "And they will assist me with Voldemort. If, however, they force me to do so, I will deal with them as well. But I will not continue with such actions as we have already committed. I will not carry out such atrocities."

In a flash, Gellert stepped forward and leaned over, resting his arms on the sides of Albus' chair.

"It was necessary," he spat. "Entirely and utterly needed. No, it was not just, it was not kind. Yes, the wife was a casualty of war. But sometimes, one must focus on the more important things."

"It is, after all," Albus said bitterly, "For the greater good."

Gellert reeled, looking like he was the one to have been slapped.

"Have you forgotten who came up with that phrase in the first place?"

"I was-"

"And tell me," Gellert continued, blotches of colour now standing out on his cheeks. "You've said that if need be, you will destroy the horcrux in the boy yourself. Is that not putting the needs of the many above the needs of an individual?"

"Peace, Gellert," Albus said softly, holding up a hand. "I will do what needs to be done. I am simply afraid of falling into the same trap as you did, once upon a time."

Gellert turned away from him with a snort, his hands balling themselves into fists again.

Still facing the wall, Gellert spoke, sounding like he wanted to scream.

"And so, now that your boring self-recriminations are over, what do you plan?"

"For now, it appears that the Ministry will remain on our side. However, I do not yet know how they will react to what we did to the Malfoys. It is possible, of course, that they will not put out a warrant for our arrests, but with Alastor taking the position that he has…"

Closing his eyes, Albus emptied his mind, banishing all the background noise of his thoughts and allowing himself to focus on the problem at hand.

"If the Ministry does not begin to cause problems," he said, "We will continue as we were. Our first order of business is the destruction of Voldemort's horcruxes."

"And finding them all," Gellert said snidely, "that's rather important as well."

"Of course, it is. I still believe that one of them is hidden somewhere in Hogwarts. Jeremy is, as you know, finding what I believe will be the key to another. And that simply leaves Nagini, the Cup in the Lestrange Vault, and Harry."

"Not to mention dealing with everything he will throw against us in the meanwhile."

Albus nodded, forcing himself to not give in to his fatigue.

"I believe," he said, standing up again. "That we have much to plan. But I meant what I said, Gellert. I will do what I must, but I will not condemn myself in the process."

* * *

Bleary-eyed, Harry stretched his hand out to his bedside table, searching for his glasses. After a few seconds of his hand closing on empty air, he rolled over, yawning as he looked around.

For a moment, confusion struck at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Then it all clicked back into place.

_'Yeah. This is Sirius' place, the safehouse in Wales.'_

Sirius was clearly awake and apparently had a visitor over; Harry could just make out the sounds of conversation from downstairs, too muted to actually hear any specific words.

He spent the next few minutes just lying there, allowing the events of the past day to play out through his mind.

Slowly, he processed it all, his mind waking up and casting off the confusion of sleep.

It was utterly insane how much had happened in such a short time. It seemed like he hadn't been given a chance to just think, from the moment when Dumbledore had arrived at Hogwarts and retaken the school, until Sirius had sat him down and explained about the Order's internal politics.

Of course, everything had been moving, one thing after another. But he'd allowed himself to be tossed around like a piece of driftwood, he'd allowed events to just pull him along.

He'd spent the whole of the previous day reacting to everything that was thrown at him, instead of acting in the first place.

Hell, he'd barely done _anything _during the fight at the Ministry. The Death Eaters had almost got him, multiple times.

If not for Sirius and Dumbledore, they would have gotten him.

An icy fist clenched at his heart, his stomach twisting.

He sat up, glancing over at the innocuous-looking orb on his bedside table.

It was still glowing softly, a misty blueish-white light emanating from it.

So small, to have been something of such importance. So small, for something that had affected the course of his life from before he was even born.

Voldemort believed the prophecy had power, that the prophecy decided what the future would be.

It didn't matter whether he was right or wrong about that. All that mattered was that Voldemort thought he was right, and so he'd never stop coming after Harry, not as long as they both were alive.

He wouldn't be able to avoid those types of situations in the future, couldn't stay away from fights. Voldemort, Harry knew, wanted him dead.

He couldn't rely on other people always being there to fight for and rescue him.

But what could he do?

Harry knew that he was good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, no question about _that_, but Voldemort had been a prodigy years before even Harry's parents were born. Voldemort had decades of experience under his belt, and far more knowledge than Harry could possibly hope to learn in a short time.

Especially after seeing Dumbledore and Voldemort duelling, even though he'd only caught glimpses of it, Harry was certain that he wouldn't be able to beat the dark wizard in that type of fight.

And yet…

Nearly a year ago, he'd duelled Voldemort and survived. True, that had been in great part due to the brother-wand effect and not to his prowess, but he'd done more than most people could have.

He could certainly do whatever he could to make sure that if, when, he faced Voldemort again, he'd have the greatest chance of survival.

_'Don't forget the Death Eaters. Dumbledore and Voldemort might be in a league of their own, but most of the Death Eaters aren't.'_

A strange warmth spread out in his stomach, a mixture of encouragement and determination.

By God, the Death Eaters wouldn't find him easy pickings.

Nor any of the DA either, if he could help it.

A muffled swear filtered in from the floor below, punctuated by a loud thump.

_'It's already noon,' _Harry realized with a glance at his watch. _'Damn, that was a long sleep. I needed it, but I wonder what's been going on in the meantime?' _

A few minutes later, freshly dressed, Harry entered the kitchen to find Sirius and Lupin sitting at the small table with a mug in front of each of them.

Their conversation died as he walked in, both of them turning to face him. Lupin took advantage of the pause to take a sip of his drink, a grimace flashing across his face.

"The sleeper awakens!" Sirius announced, giving one of the empty chairs a few pats. "So, the bed wasn't too hard, was it?"

"Uh, no," Harry said, slightly thrown by Sirius' cheer. It felt frenetic and unnatural, like Sirius was trying to force some light-heartedness into a rough situation.

Lupin and Sirius both looked as if they were attempting to hide distress; Dark, heavy bags hung under Lupin's eyes, the lines on his face more pronounced than ever. The corner of Sirius' mouth was twitching restlessly, a shadow hanging on his face somehow belying the light streaming in through the drapes.

"What happened?" Harry asked, thick dread pooling in his intestines. "Voldemort did something, didn't he?"

Lupin nodded grimly, draining his mug.

"Yeah," Sirius sighed, his shoulders sagging as the frantic energy drained out of him. "He did. We knew he'd react, but we weren't prepared for this."

"What did he do?"

"Muggle attack," Sirius answered, "near Liverpool. Used a giant. The Obliviators are working overtime, but he hit Azkaban too, so lots of Aurors have been diverted to deal with _that. _And then…"

"Azkaban? But they broke out all the Death Eaters ages ago, didn't they?"

"Death Eaters aren't the only people kept in Azkaban. Plenty of other scum for him to recruit, if that's what he's after. But more than that. The Dementors have abandoned the island. They're on the loose, free to do whatever they want."

It sounded like a nightmare; Dementors, spreading around England and attacking anyone they came across.

God, Muggles wouldn't even be able to see them. They wouldn't know why they were suddenly feeling hopeless and despondent, they wouldn't be able to see the creatures approaching them and lowering their hoods to use their most vile weapon.

He shivered, aware of the bizarre incongruity of sitting in the brightly-decorated kitchen with the sun warming his arms and talking about this.

"What can we do about that? The Order's doing something, right?"

Sirius and Lupin glanced at each other, some communication passing between them.

"The Order's in shambles, right now," Lupin finally said, his voice hoarse. "Harry...the Death Eaters were very busy last night. They went after us."

Harry's blood turned to ice, their faces flashing before his eyes.

_'Not the Weasleys. At least not the Weasley, please.'_

"Who?"

His question came out in a croak, his throat suddenly dry.

Sirius placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, his face growing softer.

"The Weasleys are all ok," he said, "but they were attacked. They're fine, Harry. The Burrow got burned down, but they all got out in time."

"Tonks' parents aren't," Lupin said. "Ted, her father, he...he's dead. And they kidnapped her mother."

Hot guilt flashed through him, burning self-disgust at his immediate thought of _'At least it wasn't someone I know well.'_

_'Fuck,' _he thought, _'Poor Tonks.'_

"Everyone's in shambles," Sirius continued, "They went for Hestia's mum, but she wasn't home. No-one's heard from Mundungus, but we don't know if that means something or not, with him. There's some talk about something that happened in Knockturn Alley, but no-one's sure what it was. And…"

Sirius paused for a moment, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze.

"Harry," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, "they took your aunt and uncle too. At least, they've vanished, and Arabella Figg has as well."

Harry sat there, stunned, his eyes locking onto the wallpaper's cheerful dancing pixies.

A part of him felt like laughing gleefully; after all of Vernon's rants about the Wizarding World, Harry was quite sure he'd be more than glad to have some wizards come and rescue him now.

That part was immediately crowded out as shame, guilt, and fear stepped in to wave their flags in Harry's head. He may have hated his aunt and uncle sometimes, but he'd never have wished Voldemort's attention on them.

They'd never exactly treated him well, but they'd taken him in. They were still family, no matter how much he often wished they weren't.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying, without much success, to carry out Snape's instructions for Occlumency.

_'Don't think about it now. You'll have time to deal with this later.'_

"Harry? Do you-"

'I'm fine," he said, opening his eyes again. "I'm fine, Sirius."

Lupin looked as if he were about to speak, a concerned expression appearing on his face.

"Ok," Sirius said, giving Harry's shoulder another squeeze, "But you know, you can talk to us about it."

"I know."

Sirius' eyes searched Harry's, intent and deep.

Abruptly, he nodded and spoke again.

"Dumbledore sent us a message. He'll be coming in a few hours, said we're to just sit tight till then. If you want-"

Harry opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he was about to say until the words tripped out.

"Will you practice duelling with me? While we wait?"

Sirius grinned.

* * *

Rufus ran his hands through his head, feeling wearier than he had thought possible.

His thoughts kept circling back to the bottle of Ogden's in his desk drawer. It belonged to Fudge, as did most of the geegaws littering the comfortable office, but he didn't think anyone could blame him for taking the edge off of things a bit.

Merlin, what a mess.

He'd never wanted the Ministerial position. He'd have been more than happy to just remain head of the Auror department, to do his part from there to make England a better place.

Nevertheless, it was far better for him to be Minister than Fudge, or for Dumbledore to simply take over.

By God, if he had to do this job, he'd at least make sure that it was done to the best of his abilities.

If only Dumbledore wouldn't be going out of his way to make it as bloody difficult for Rufus as possible.

As soon as word got out of what Dumbledore had done to the Malfoys, the Wizengamot would be up in arms.

Too many of them were friends with the Malfoys, too many of them believed, on some level, in Voldemort's ideology.

They'd be furious and demanding, at the very least, Dumbledore's arrest.

Rufus wasn't sure if they would be wrong to do so.

They couldn't just sit back and allow Dumbledore to do whatever they wanted. Merlin, what was the point of having a government in the first place if they simply bent to the whims of anyone powerful enough?

The whole purpose of the Ministry was for there to be law and order, for there to be a force of stability and civilization in Britain.

If they just ignored it whenever Dumbledore broke the law, what message did that send? That the law only applied to certain individuals?

How different was that to what Voldemort wanted?

Obviously, Dumbledore's intentions were far better than Voldemort's were. Dumbledore, Rufus believed, truly did want to improve life for all. If Dumbledore was given free rein, it would probably lead to a vast betterment of the state of life in Britain.

But if the Ministry didn't apply its laws equally, what the hell was the point of its existence?

"Going around in circles," Rufus muttered, "and I'm getting nowhere. What can I do?"

He wouldn't be able to ignore the Wizengamot, that was for sure. If he tried, they'd just unseat him and name someone else Minister. Whoever it would be, Rufus was quite sure they wouldn't care for Britain in the same way as he did.

He wouldn't be able to ignore them, but maybe, if he was careful and smart enough, he'd be able to prevent them being _too_ stupid.

Dumbledore, Rufus thought, wouldn't bother with attacking the Ministry unless he was provoked.

His main fight was with Voldemort, as indeed the Ministry's should have been as well.

Once Voldemort was dealt with, it would be far easier to work things out with Dumbledore. If Rufus could just show Dumbledore that his intervention wasn't needed in the government, the old wizard would back off.

And if he didn't, then at least the Ministry wouldn't have to worry about fighting him and Voldemort at the same time.

"But if Dumbledore keeps pulling this type of shit, I won't be able to just ignore him."

Rufus shook his head, an ache beginning to form behind his temples.

He wouldn't be able to just ignore Dumbledore, but he might be able to focus the Wizengamot on Voldemort. Moody, Rufus knew, might prove a problem. An excellent Auror though he had been, Moody simply had no head for politics, no ability to put aside his ideals. Especially not with Grindelwald involved.

While Moody might be a problem, Voldemort's pals certainly would be. All those old-fashioned purebloods, the ones who were too cowardly to actually join the Death Eaters but would happily laugh about their actions while giving whatever financial support they could.

They had power and money and enough savvy to understand that Dumbledore was threatening their entire way of life.

The only question was whether they would support the Ministry or Voldemort.

"If I don't react to the Malfoy's murders," he muttered, "they'll go to You Know Who. But if they think that the Ministry cares about them, they _might _not throw their weight behind him."

If Grindelwald wasn't in the picture, it wouldn't be quite so difficult. Unfortunately, he was very much a part of events.

Somehow, Rufus needed to figure out a way to placate the traditionalist purebloods and call Dumbledore to task, all without pushing too hard against the man and while fighting Voldemort.

"I need someone I can talk this out with. Someone who isn't a part of Dumbledore's Order and who isn't one of those old school wankers. Someone who knows how to wrangle politicians."

Up until then, Robards had been the only one Rufus had been confiding in. Rufus trusted him, and Gareth had a good head on his shoulders, but the man was no politician.

Rufus hadn't wanted to be one, either. Still, no-one could spend ten years as head of the Auror Department without learning how the system worked, and how to manipulate it to their advantage.

An idea occurred to him, a name popping into the forefront of his mind.

He thought about it for a bit, absently drumming his fingers on his desk as he did so.

He'd worked with her a lot, over the years. He'd never really liked her, but her heart was definitely in the right place.

He didn't have to like her. All that mattered was that he could trust her.

Sighing, the firewhisky calling to him with its promise of sweet oblivion and release from responsibility, Rufus summoned a piece of memo paper and began to quill a letter to Amelia.

* * *

_'So,' _Gellert thought, _'This is the famous prophesied child.'_

A wry grin pulled at his lips as he gazed upon the boy. He fancied that he could almost see the swirls of fate spinning around his head, the faint aura that promised great importance.

He wouldn't bother arguing with Albus about the Prophecy. Albus was not a Seer, he could not understand as Gellert did. Besides, his old friend could be absurdly stubborn once he'd made up his mind.

The boy was nodding, biting at his lip and looking serious as Albus explained what had happened to his relatives. He didn't look too beaten up by the news.

_'Perhaps he has some strength of character. Hopefully he has more of that than he does the ability to duel.'  
_

He and Albus had arrived in time to catch the tail end of the boy facing off with one of the men who were present.

_'Black, that's his name. The boy's godfather, Albus said.'_

The duel was not entirely disappointing; if Gellert were to judge, he would assume the boy was more talented than the average youth of his age. Oh, he was certainly passable, but he was simply not what Gellert would imagine fate to have chosen to combat this Voldemort. He was certainly not, as many seemed to believe him, worthy of being Albus' apprentice.

Perhaps, with enough time and effort, the boy would prove to have hidden talents; perhaps he had some secret brilliance which would shine through.

A shame, therefore, that the boy would be denied the opportunity. If Albus proved unable to do the deed himself, if his compassion and kindness prevented him from doing what needed to be done…

Well, if that was the case, then Gellert would destroy Voldemort's accidental Horcrux himself.

Did the boy know? Did he even have an inkling of what he was?

Surely he must, regardless of what Albus said. Surely he at least suspected that his connection to Voldemort's mind and his ability to speak the serpent's tongue spoke of something more than just a mysterious magical connection.

Albus was still talking, going on about the information his pet Death Eater had given him.

Gellert wanted to laugh. For a spy, the man knew far less than he should have. Oh, he had confirmed that Voldemort was turning all of his captives into Inferi, but he claimed no knowledge of where and when they would strike.

Gellert hoped it would be soon. He itched to test his skills against this Voldemort, to see if he could succeed in stealing the man's dead army from his control.

It would not stop there. He would fight this pretender dark lord with everything he had, he would show why people still trembled at the sound of his name.

Nurmengard may have stolen decades of practice, but it had not taken his knowledge.

As a gust of wind blew the curtains open, a bird flew past the window. It was a sparrow, if Gellert were to guess. It swept down, the sunlight shimmering off of the crimson patches on its wings.

Gellert's breath caught in his throat, the sheer beauty of it blinding him.

His decades of imprisonment had robbed him of this; he had forgotten, almost, the sheer wonder the world possessed. Locked away in his tower prison, he had drifted into a colourless world where he could no longer marvel at the sights of nature.

But now he was free. Free, and once again marching to war alongside the man he had loved more than any other.

The gust of wind ended, the curtains settling back into place and blocking the window from sight.

Gellert returned to his vigil, his attention focusing back on the boy's scar.

The boy kept darting his eyes toward Gellert, clearly noticing his constant gaze.

At least he was attentive.

Black was currently watching Gellert, with the other man by his side mimicking him. They both seemed slightly wary.

Frankly, it was good to know that they feared him. Allies though they might be, but Gellert had long known fear to be a more honest emotion than admiration.

He ignored them, continuing to stare at the boy, only pausing to occasionally gaze upon Albus.

His friend was pulling the kindly grandfather act again, emotionally connecting with the boy and somehow simultaneously giving him terrible news and reassuring him.

In truth, it was not an act. As much as Albus was a powerful, deadly warrior, he was also a gentle, kind-hearted man.

He was both, and so much more. A conundrum, a mystifying, bedazzling creature who belonged in legend, whose name, like Gellert's, deserved to be emblazoned across the earth. Unlike what had been the case for Gellert until now, Albus would not live forever in notoriety and infamy. No, once he would acknowledgewho and what he truly was, he would finally do what Gellert had dreamed of all those decades before.

He would transform the world into a paradise, and Gellert would be by his side.

Once, Gellert had hoped for Albus to be by _his_ side. Ah, but that was many years ago, before Nurmengard and its endless loneliness had stolen so much from him.

Now, he would be content to play second fiddle to Albus, to take the role of the right-hand wizard.

They would destroy this upstart dark lord, and then...and then Albus would see the truth, would realize that his moral compunctions were nothing beside the corruption and evil that would claim lesser men.

They would destroy this Voldemort, and would then take control of Britain, claiming the right to rule that men such as them deserved.

And after that…

"Alastor will," Albus continued, "unless I am very much mistaken, no longer be fighting alongside us. Unfortunately, I do not believe he will simply ally with the Ministry and battle Voldemort under their auspices."

Black and his companion, the werewolf, exchanged glances. The boy, meanwhile, continued to watch Albus.

"You think he'll push them to fight you?"

Albus bowed his head, his piercing eyes closing momentarily.

"Much as Salazar Slytherin was unable to look past his fear and hatred of muggles, even for the good of Hogwarts, Alastor is unable to forget what happened to his father. Although, I doubt he would appreciate my comparison."

The men both looked at Gellert at that, the werewolf immediately staring back into his mug.

Black, however, met Gellert's eyes.

_'Yes. This is a man who will follow us. Imprisoned unjustly, Albus said. Oh, how he must burn for vengeance. Raw, unshaped vengeance, directed at the society which so wronged him. Wonderful. But, if Albus is correct regarding how much he cares for the boy…' _

"What will you do about him?" The boy asked.

"I will try to reason with him. And when that fails, I will do everything in my power not to hurt him if he does not force me to do so."

The werewolf swallowed, not raising his eyes to meet Albus. Black, on the other hand, nodded grimly.

"And what of you, Sirius? And you, Remus? Can I trust you? Will you stand with me? Will you help me, not merely to vanquish Voldemort, but to heal the society which birthed him?"

For a moment, neither of them answered him, although, Gellert was pleased to see, neither of them flinched at that foolish name.

"I don't want needless bloodshed, Albus," the werewolf finally said. "But I know that you don't either. You can count on me. God help me, you can count on me."

Gellert almost let a sneer form on his lips.

In war, there was no such thing as needless bloodshed. Even if a death accomplished nothing but to strike fear into one's enemies' hearts, it was not needless.

"And you know that I'd do anything to keep Harry safe," Black said smoothly, giving Albus a cocky grin and tapping the boy in question on the back of the head. "Not to mention, I'm happy to help tear down the shitty system my family helped create. I'm in, Albus. As if it was even a question."

_'Ah. How that must stab Albus. He will see what he needs to do as a betrayal of this man. Perhaps I should prepare for him to be removed along with the boy.'_

"My dear friends," Albus. "Your loyalty astounds me. Thank you. The world will thank you too, one day. For now, we must begin to plan. I believe that Voldemort-"

Of course, it had to happen right then. A silvery, shapeless ball of mist shot through the wall as if it wasn't there, forming into a glistening doe Patronus.

"He is starting an attack in several minutes," the doe said, speaking in the voice of Albus' pet Death Eater. "A Muggle village, one where several wizarding families live as well. Somewhere in Devon. I will inform you once I know more."

The Patronus hovered in place for a moment before dissipating.

Gellert's heart began to race, his fingers tightening around his wand.

_'No leaving me behind this time. Oh yes, it all begins again now. Those… Malfoys, they were just a warm-up. This is it.' _

He felt a smile appear on his face, his teeth poking through the crack in his lips.

And in Albus' eyes, he could see his own bloodlust smiling back at him.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The instant Severus' Patronus had finished delivering its message, Albus' mind shot into action.

Of course, none of the more traditionalist members of the Wizengamot would be living in this Devon village. They would have their own manor houses, far away from any non-magical residences. Obviously, Voldemort would be using this attack to send a message to those who were not yet on his side. It would be a promise to them, an assurance that if they did not support him, they would continue to experience such attacks regularly.

Just as obviously, this would not be all Voldemort was planning. Heartless and bereft of love though Voldemort had made himself, he knew all too well how to manipulate love. Albus highly doubted that Voldemort would waste all the effort he had forced his followers to undergo in capturing family members of the Order. He certainly wouldn't use those specific corpses on some random village in Devon.

No, those Inferi would be used at another time, or in another location. This attack might merely be serving as a distraction, to keep Albus and Gellert busy while the Inferi made from relatives of Order members were sent to where they would have the greatest emotional impact. While Albus had to respond to this immediate threat, he could not afford to be lulled into a false sense of security regarding everywhere else.

Ironically enough, this attack would allow Albus to gain favour in the eyes of those very people Voldemort was attempting to frighten into submission, as he would arrive to rescue them.

Unless...that, very likely, was part of Voldemort's plan. Doubtless, he had stationed some of his more expendable followers there, perhaps those he had recruited from Azkaban, and was expecting Albus to treat them as he had the Malfoys.

A shudder ran through his mind as he remembered what he had done, his conscience beginning to plague him once more.

What he had done had been far more than just a mistake: with one fell deed, he had threatened to undo all of the moral decisions he had made day after day for the last fifty years.

He had murdered two people, murdered them in a torturous and horrific display of his power.

Was that what he was? Was an action like that something that he, Britain's great champion of freedom and love, should have carried out?

Gellert could talk as much as he desired about how such brutality was morally sound, but Albus would still be conflicted.

What would the world look like, if he were to carry out such atrocities to anyone he felt deserving of them? What if he won and, in the process, destroyed himself, leaving a tyrant to rule?

He would be worse than Voldemort if he gave in to his deeply-buried murderous desires. If he were to allow his darker parts, the Elder Wand's urgings, and Gellert's whispers to sway him, he would be creating a regime of fear and tyranny, made all the worse by it being done in the name of justice.

Nevertheless, he had decided on his path. It was too late now for him to turn back and announce that he would be kind to all. It had been too late since the moment he'd stepped foot in Nurmengard.

And yet, he could not afford to lose himself. The world could not afford for him to become a monster.

An interesting and extremely pressing dilemma, but one that he would have to revisit later, once he had dealt with the immediate threat of Voldemort's Inferi.

As Severus' Patronus began to dissolve into mist, Albus met Gellert's eyes, instantly recognizing the bloodlust there.

He would have to speak with Gellert about this later, once he knew exactly what to say.

"Harry," Albus said, "You are certain that you do wish to return to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately, "Professor."

"A wise choice. Remus, will you Side-Along Harry?"

At Remus' nod, Albus continued.

"To the Hog's Head, then, please. I'll inform Minerva to expect you there in half an hour. Sirius, if you would, the rest of the Order needs to be told what has happened. It is far too likely that Voldemort is using this attack in Devon as a distraction. I would assume the Weasleys to be at highest risk. If any of the Order wishes to meet with me, tell them I will see them in Grimmauld Place this evening."

Sirius' face fell, no doubt by the news that he was once again being kept away from the action.

Well, it was unavoidable right now. But Sirius needed more. He'd been kept away from the world for far too long, and he needed the chance to do something of value.

"And then," Albus continued, "Gellert and I would appreciate your assistance."

Thankfully, Gellert did not choose that moment to make one of his spiteful comments.

"I will see you again soon," Albus said, locking eyes with Harry. "But for now, we must once again part. Gellert, come."

* * *

The Hog's Head had changed since they'd had the initial DA meeting there.

Harry's first thought upon his arrival in the pub, was that something had gone wrong and the apparition had taken hours instead of instants, enough time for the sun to set. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize that the darkness was coming from inside the pub.

The windows were dirty, but light still filtered in through them, held at bay by the enormous shadows pooling around the floor and corners.

"Get out. And don't come back."

Echoing Lupin's movement beside him, Harry spun around, coming face to face with the snarling bartender.

His face was stormy, his eyes aflame.

"Aberforth, I'm meant-"

"McGonagall's outside," the bartender spat. "And you can tell my brother that I want nothing to do with him or any of the people he plays with anymore."

"Abe-"

"Get out. And tell my brother that I haven't forgotten her, even if he has."

"I didn't know he's Dumbledore's brother," Harry said, blinking in the sudden sunlight outside the inn.

Hogsmeade was almost entirely deserted, emptier than Harry had ever seen it. The only person in the street was McGonagall, standing just across the road from the Hog's Head and reading from a ream of parchment. When she saw them stepping out of the pub, she began to walk over to them.

"He's always been happier staying in the background," Lupin said, sounding a bit unnerved. "But I've never heard him sounding like that."

"Who was he talking about? That he remembers?"

With a troubled expression, Lupin shook his head, but he didn't have time to answer before McGonagall reached them. After a quick greeting, Harry said goodbye to Lupin and followed McGonagall toward Hogwarts.

The walk up to the castle was extremely awkward, with neither of them speaking after their initial greetings. Several times, McGonagall opened her mouth before appearing to think better of it and closing it again.

Harry wasted no time in finding Ron and Hermione once he'd stepped into the castle. Luckily, they were both in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione hugged him tight enough that he felt as if his ribs would break, and Ron clapped him on the shoulder before embracing him too.

"Ron," he said, "the Burrow... I'm sorry, mate."

"Everyone got out," Ron replied with a shrug. "That's the important thing, right?"

"Definitely."

"Harry," Hermione half-whispered. "Where've you been? We saw a bit about the Department of Mysteries in the Prophet, but it didn't explain much, and-"

"I've got a lot to tell you guys," he said. "Bloody hell, more stuff happened over the last day than the whole of the rest of the year."

Dropping into the nearest armchair, Harry began to talk.

* * *

The village of Moulton was a lovely place. Dozens of small houses dotted the countryside, with narrow roads leading from them to the town square and from there to the highway. The picturesque church's backyard opened onto the square, its steeple watching over the small community.

It was a perfectly picturesque place, one that would have looked fitting on a postcard.

And it was on fire.

A thick blanket of white smoke coated the village, bringing tears to Albus' eyes. Terrified and agonized shrieks filled the air, meshing with the shouts of brutal incantations to form a hellish orchestra.

A near-imperceptible, thoughtless twitch of his wand formed a bubble of clear air around his head and allowed his vision to pierce the smoke.

He almost wished it hadn't. Though he had chosen to fight, chosen to do what was necessary to end Voldemort's attempted seizure of power, he could never rest easy while gazing upon a scene such as this one.

Huge, roaring flames billowed out of the church's ruined stained-glass windows and from many of the thatched roofs.

And the Death Eaters were attacking, keeping the few wizards and witches occupied while the Inferi went after the muggles.

Four members of the village's wizarding populace stood in a line with their backs to the church, sweat coating their foreheads as their wands flashed. Tears streamed down their faces, at least, all the faces that Albus could see clearly enough to make out. Doubtless, the source of their sorrow was the three bodies dotting the greying grass between them and the Death Eaters. At least five Death Eaters that Albus could see at first glance were attacking, seeming to be enjoying themselves as they fought the wizards. In fact, they appeared to be toying with their prey.

A horrible scream sounded, pulling Albus' attention to the town square. Two dozen Inferi were shambling toward the square, grave dirt and bits of skin sloughing off of some of the less fresh creatures. They were being directed by two Death Eaters, the lame leg and set of the one's shoulders clearly marking him as Thaddeus Nott.

Thaddeus' laugh still rang clear when Albus and Gellert appeared, an incongruous noise of joy in this horrific scene.

A large group of muggles had gathered in the square to make their stand against the Inferi.

More likely than a chosen battlefield, they had probably fled mindlessly from the walking dead and found themselves boxed in. One of them had climbed the rusty fountain, a milk-faced woman with a bundle of blankets clutched tight to her chest. At the front of the Muggle group, an elderly man was struggling to do something to what appeared to be a rifle.

In confirmation of his theory about Voldemort's plans for the kidnapped Order family members, none of the Inferi had been people Albus knew, as far as he could tell.

He shouldn't have felt happy about that, but he did.

He took the entire scene in instantly, trails of thought blazing through his mind and creating a plan of action before the wind of his passage could abate.

He would deal with the Death Eaters. Though Gellert might be careless toward the Muggles in his frenzy to attack the Inferi, if he were to leave his friend to handle the Death Eaters, Albus was certain none of them would survive.

If Albus wished for Scrimgeour and the Ministry to deal with him in good faith, he had to show them that he would not simply execute Death Eaters out of hand.

Besides, Gellert had been known for his use of Inferi, twisting some of the necromantic arts down paths heretofore untreated. It would be worthwhile for Gellert to be handed the undead if only to ascertain what of his prodigious skill still remained.

The muted, near-soundless crack of Albus and Gellert's Apparition still hung in the air when the towering steeple let off a terribly harsh ripping noise. Boiling hot metal screamed in protest as the beautiful spire tore away from the church, with flames engulfing it before it could even reach the ground.

The earth shook as it landed, shrapnel howling in every which way.

Its crash galvanized him into action.

"The Inferi are mine," Gellert snarled, his wand beginning to move through a pattern that Albus could not even recognize. "You take the scum, but the dead are mine!"

"As they have ever been," Albus replied. "And I would not dare suggest otherwise. And now…here is your chance, old friend."

Without another word, Albus left his companion and swept into the fray.

The first thing Albus did, before he'd even completed a full step forward, was to cast an Anti-Apparition Charm on the Death Eaters. As he'd thought, none of them showed the slightest reaction as his binding fell over them, too engrossed in their combat to even notice as Apparition was denied to them.

As he drew closer, the face of one of the fallen Moultonians swam into clarity. It was his old ally on the Wizengamot, a woman he had called a friend even long after she'd forced him to stop referring to her as Professor. It was Griselda Marchbanks, and she was undeniably dead.

Doubtless, it was her presence in this place that had led Voldemort to attack here. She was one of the few members of the Wizengamot who would never yield to Voldemort, even if she believed Albus to be as mad as the Ministry had made him out to be.

She had been blessed with an iron will, and yet had been kind and thoughtful and caring and now she was dead because these spoiled _children_ had opened themselves to Voldemort's poisonous hatred.

Albus' foot landed, furious grief unleashing from some hidden portion of his mind as his wand shot out and twisted through the air in a circular pattern.

Were it not for the fact that he had bound himself, over and over along the endless decades, in the unrelenting chains of bitter morality, he would bring such ruin to these vermin that their fates would be whispered about for decades to come.

He would inspire such terror that none would dare oppose him, he would utterly destroy the spirits of those who hid in the darkness and raged against the light.

That would be easy. All it would require would be for him to simply be willing to cast aside the frayed chains of the ethics he'd chosen when he hadn't been gripped with such fury.

It would be easy, but it would not be right. For the barest fraction of an instant, he felt a fleeting flash of disappointment, a terrible longing to just abandon his morals.

The wand creaked under his grip as he gestured with it. None of the Death Eaters had even noticed his presence, although one of the defending wizards seemed to have; sharp relief appeared on his face as Albus drew closer, tears glimmering in the corners of his eye.

His mouth opened, framing Albus' name-

Albus' spell barrelled toward the Death Eaters, his will made reality in a thunderous roar, an invisible force recognizable only by the way the smoke veered around it and the dust was kicked up by its passing.

His work smashed through them, knocking them aside like a set of bowling pins. Four of the five were thrown to the ground, one of them landing with his arm clearly broken.

The fifth managed to keep his balance, but barely. He was spun around, his silver mask crumpling into a ball as it flew from his face. Rookwood began to raise his wand, fear twisting his features.

It almost hurt, the realization that Albus was extremely satisfied to see the terror he had inspired.

Before Rookwood could do more than take aim, Albus' spell came rushing back. Rookwood shrieked like a wounded animal and dropped; the crack of his breaking spine far louder than it had any right to be.

The spell smashed its way back over the other Death Eaters, tearing their masks away and crushing their faces into the ground. Teeth were tugged from mouths and noses and jaws broken, blood splattering across the ash and dust that was beginning to settle down from the passage of the wall of wind.

But Albus was not done. Their masks began to elongate, the silver seeming to drip and melt as they stretched out and tore like dry parchment, each of them forming into a pair of manacles. The makeshift handcuffs hovered in mid-air for a moment, before responding to Albus' jerk of his wand and flying at the downed Death Eaters to attach themselves to their wrists. He stabbed his wand in their direction as those who still could began to struggle. A blindingly bright light appeared, and when it had vanished, they were Stunned.

Silence reigned on this corner of the village. The innocent wizards and witches who, mere moments before had been fighting for their lives, lowered their wands, gratitude and awed shock fighting for control of their expressions.

Less than a minute had passed since Albus' arrival.

The wall of wind he had conjured towered above him, awaiting instructions. Albus gave his wand a twist, sending jets of air hurtling out in a circle from it and beginning the process of banishing the smoke. As he did so, he gestured toward the fires dotting the village, the flames slowly beginning to diminish and pull in on themselves.

"Dumbledore...you...you came," one of the wizards started, his voice sounding like it would dissolve into tears at any moment. "You came!'

"Did you truly think I would not?"

The group shuffled their feet, one of them muttering something beyond the edge of hearing.

A witch detached from the group, the sunlight throwing her face into sharp relief. A pang shot through Albus' heart at the pain in Griselda's granddaughter's eyes. She ignored the rest of them and walked over to Griselda's body, where she dropped to her knees and began to sob.

And then a shout from the town square reminded Albus that though he had dealt with most of the Death Eaters, the fight was not yet done.

Gellert, it seemed, had not been entirely confident that he could seize control of the Inferi in time to save the muggles. A thick wall of flame stood in place, a strong border between the Muggles and the Inferi.

Between the Muggles and where the Inferi had been, at least.

One of the Death Eaters lay in the ground in a bloody mess, his intestines spooling out through the gaping hole of his belly. His head lay several feet from his neck, his eyes empty sockets. Of his partner, there was no sight.

It took him a few moments to find Gellert, hidden as he was in the shadow of one of the few remaining houses. When Albus did spot him, his heart skipped a beat, that ghost of a smile returning to his face.

A stream of sunlight shone directly onto Gellert's head, all but granting the golden sheen of his youth. His eyes _blazed_ with glory, that arrogant power that had so attracted Albus emanating in an almost physical wave.

His wand was twitching like a conductor's baton, guiding the Inferi. Twenty of the living corpses still remained, and they looked different to how they had been. It was subtle, subtle enough that one who could not see as Albus did wouldn't notice it, but it was there. They seemed more...alive, their limbs moving naturally, with none of the jerking, broken clockwork feeling of before.

They stood, huddling together in a tight clump just a few feet from Gellert, giving off the appearance of soldiers awaiting orders.

Their hands and mouths were covered in gore, the bloody remnants of the Death Eaters who had been guiding them before Gellert had arrived.

Thaddeus, however, still lived, although his right leg ended in a bleeding nub. He was kneeling in front of Gellert, his blank face at sharp contrast with the adoring look in his eyes.

As Albus watched, Gellert said something to the man and Thaddeus rose, limping over to the Inferi. He showed no signs of pain as the stump of his leg jammed into the floor with every step.

"Summon the Aurors," Albus said, not turning away from the unfolding scene before him. "And keep watch of the prisoners, although they pose no greater threat than a flobberworm, as they are. I am afraid that I must leave."

"But-"

Thaddeus held his hands out to the Inferi who eagerly reached out and touched his palm.

No, not touched. They were taking objects from his hands, objects too small for Albus to clearly make out.

With a flash of insight, Albus realized exactly what Gellert was doing.

"The Aurors will not waste time once they know what has happened here," he said, "I will ensure the muggles are taken care of before I leave. I am truly sorry for what has happened here today. I hope, at least, the wishing well survived. If I recall correctly, it had the finest collection of graffiti in all of Devon."

The Inferi were crowding around each other in small groups now, their hands joining in the middle of the circles they had formed.

Albus twisted into Apparition, certain as he did so that it would be too late to stop Gellert's plan if he truly wanted to.

He was correct. He appeared silently beside Gellert, but by then the Portkeys had already activated.

"Where have they gone?"

"Not a word of congratulations? As you well know, most people believe it impossible to seize Inferi from another's control."

Gellert chuckled, tossing his head back so proudly that Albus felt his heart shudder.

"There will be time to stoke your ego later. Where did you send them, Gellert?"

Gellert's humour vanished in an instant, his eyes burning, not with power now, but with fury.

"I sent them back where they came from. If your Dark Lord couldn't be bothered with obliviating his lieutenant," he huffed at this before continuing, as if disappointed that Thaddeus hadn't put up more of a fight. "He obviously couldn't be too bothered about my discovering his location."

"And you did not think that, perhaps, it would be worth consulting with me?"

"You were busy. And I thought I would prevent you from having to struggle through another one of those moral quandaries you seem so fond of."

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness," Albus said, "but where, precisely, did you send them?"

"That fool's home. Your Dark Lord apparently is enjoying his hospitality. It was up to me, therefore, to provide him with entertainment."

Before Albus' mouth had finished framing his next words, Gellert waved a hand and continued. "If I can trust anything that I found in that worthless soup he calls his mind, there are no innocents at that fool's manor. Only his eldest son, who, he was happy to recall, wears Voldemort's brand proudly. No collateral damage, Albus. Besides, it's not like a paltry few Inferi should pose them any threat. There's no need for you to sully your perfect composition with anger."

"I am not angry in the slightest. I would merely prefer-"

"For me to consult with you in the future, yes, yes. Jawohl, Kommandant. But shouldn't we be focusing on the poor Muggles right now? And didn't you promise to let your Animagus follower join us?"

Albus sighed, breathing deeply and banishing his pique. There would be no arguing with Gellert now, not when he was in this sort of mood.

"You are, of course, as correct as ever. It appears we will merely be meeting with Sirius for a debriefing. But come, we can at least save the Obliviators the trouble. And I'm sure it would take the two of us minutes to set this village looking like nothing untoward occurred here."

"How absolutely thrilling," Gellert said brightly. "Why, I could think of no better use for our talents!"

Albus sighed again, the wand vibrating ever so gently in his palm.

* * *

"Wow," Ron muttered, seeming at a loss for words. "Wow."

Hermione's eyes were distant, a look Harry knew far too well.

"Yeah. It's...I don't even know. It's crazy."

"Dumbledore's really off his rocker, isn't he?" Ron said, a touch of admiration in his voice.

"Didn't you say the same thing in our first year?"

"Didn't realize how right I was. Bloody fucking hell. What are we going to do?"

Harry looked around, eyeing the rest of the common room. No-one was close enough to have overheard, not with him, Ron, and Hermione having made a point to keep their voices down.

"I've been thinking," Harry said, glancing at Hermione again. He fancied he could nearly hear the wheels turning in her head. "About the DA. We need to make sure that everyone can actually fight."

"Wasn't that what we were doing?"

He shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"We need to step up our game, Ron. The Death Eaters aren't playing around-"

"We never thought they were."

"I know, but it's...Sirius is right. The bristles are really coming off the broom now. You can feel it, how tense everyone is. Now that we're not hiding from Umbridge, I think we should have a meeting every night. We need to train as hard as we can. Sirius and Lupin both said they'd be willing to give us some pointers, and we could probably ask Flitwick, wasn't he a duelling champion or something?"

Ron shut his gaping mouth with a clang. "Every night? You think they'll all come? Harry, we've got quidditch training, we'll have homework-it's OWL year- do you really-"

"None of that matters! C'mon, Ron, none of that stuff is as important as learning how to actually stand up to Death Eaters! It's not going to quieten down; it'll just get worse! And if we're with Dumbledore, we might have to fight the Ministry too! At least for us, for the three of us and-and Ginny-we can meet every night, even if the others aren't willing to!"

He was burning up, feverish, terrible intensity pounding against his chest. He couldn't remember feeling like this except when he'd thought Sirius had been the one to betray his parents. When he blinked, he could see the Department of Mysteries again, he could feel the fear as he'd stood there unable to even properly defend himself. He wouldn't be that helpless again, and he'd be _fucked_ if he let his friends go forward without doing everything they could to fight back.

Something of his obsessed need must have shown; Ron had leaned back in his chair, his eyes wide.

"Damnit, Ron, they burned down the Burrow! They could have killed your parents! They would have if they could have! This isn't a fucking gobstones match! _They will kill us if we let them!" _

Slowly, his face hardening and making him look for a moment like the man he would one day become, Ron nodded.

"Hermione? Hello, are you there?"

Hermione shook herself from her trance and looked around, her eyes moving skittishly.

She bit her lip, and in a soft, hesitant voice, asked: "Do you think-maybe Dumbledore has…"

"Has what?"

"Lost it," she said, looking at Ron. "Gone a bit, well, crazy."

"I don't think-"

"Harry, he broke Grindelwald out of prison. That's like-imagine if you put V-Voldemort in Azkaban, and broke him out in fifty years. It's worse, because-"

"I don't believe this," Harry hissed. Well, it was that or shouting, and half the common-room was already staring at them. "I don't believe this. You've always been the one to say we've got to trust Snape because Dumbledore-"

"That's not the same, and you know it. Harry, just-"

"No!"

He was on his feet in an instant. The shout had escaped him, and everyone was staring at him but he couldn't care less. The fact that now everyone could hear what he was saying didn't even occur to him.

"No, you've always said that we need to trust Dumbledore, you had no qualms about listening to him when it came to leaving me in the dark all summer, both of you-"

"I didn't say anything," Ron muttered, slouching down in his chair.

"And now that he's actually being open with me, now that we can actually _do _something, you're getting cold feet!"

"The way you said it, he's ready to kill anyone who opposes him," Hermione cried. "That's not the Dumbledore we've always known! Harry, can't you see that what he's talking about is wrong?"

"Yeah? Well, it sounds pretty damn right to me!"

Hermione shook her head, tears glistening on her eyelashes.

"Right now," he said, "the Ministry's not going against him, so it's him or Voldemort. And if Sirius is right and they do try to fight him, I know who I'll trust between Dumbledore and the Ministry."

He held his hand up to her, the pale scars Umbridge had put there standing out against the rest of his skin.

"Harry-I just-I don't know. I don't know what's going on anymore. Nothing makes sense."

He dropped back into the chair, the plaintive way she'd spoken diffusing his sudden anger better, he thought, than even Occlumency could have been able to.

"Are you with me, Hermione? Whether it makes sense or not, are you with me?"

Her lips still shook, her eyes landing everywhere but on him.

The whole common room seemed to be holding their breath, as Hermione made up her mind.

Finally, she nodded.

"Of course I am," she said, and met his eyes.

* * *

Gellert tapped his feet in perfect tune with the jaunty tune he was humming, his hands slapping his knees every so often.

It made it harder for Albus to think, but, he thought, that was a small price to pay to see Gellert in a good mood. Especially since, as far as Severus had been able to tell, Gellert's rash action with the Inferi had cost no lives. Worthwhile though it might have been to remove Death Eaters from the picture, Albus had made Scrimgeour a promise, and he would not break it as long as Scrimgeour kept up his side of the bargain.

Of course, the Inferi had torn Thaddeus' partner apart. He'd been identified as one Nolan Lacroix, a French wizard who had never been known as a supporter of Voldemort, nor had any of his family. In fact, by his age alone, he would not have been old enough to fight during Voldemort's last rise.

Worrisome, that. If Voldemort had been recruiting in France, likely he had not left it there. His followers had connections in many countries, but last time Voldemort had avoided inciting the enmity of the other European powers.

Perhaps he viewed Albus' release of Gellert as an invitation to step on the international community's toes.

"When is he coming? This waiting is becoming rather tiresome."

"You know as well as I that he should be here any moment," Albus said. "in the meantime, you could make use of the library. The Black family library is considered one of the best collections of Dark Magic on this island."

Gellert's tongue clicked against his teeth as he rose, the sound from his knees matching that from his mouth.

"When I was still in school, I was writing papers more advanced than anything they have."

Gellert grumbled, looking around with distaste. From down the hall, they could hear Sirius' mother's disgruntled muttering, as they had for the last fifteen minutes.

It was a rather impressive piece of magic that kept them from removing her portrait, but Albus was quite sure that if she didn't hold her tongue soon, Gellert would tear it straight from the wall.

If he didn't have Sirius' loyalty already, doing that would be a sure way of achieving it.

True to his word, he and Gellert had made short work of Moulton. They'd had time to Obliviate the Muggles and repair the damage to the village before the Ministry had arrived.

Then, they'd met up with Sirius in the new safehouse in Pembrokeshire. Happily, Sirius held no ill will toward them for not leaving him a piece of the action. He seemed disappointed, but not upset. He couldn't be upset with them, in truth. They'd finished up at Moulton before Sirius had even managed to meet every member of the Order. They'd finished up with enough time to have lunch and walk along the cliffside before Sirius returned.

And now they were here, waiting for Kingsley in Grimmauld Place.

It had certainly been a productive day. The residents of Moulton might not be the most influential in the British Wizarding World, but their opinion would still make a difference. Even if they felt angry about Albus and Gellert arriving too late to protect poor Griselda and their other fallen, they would still remember who it was that had come to save them from Death Eaters. More importantly, they had seen Gellert Grindelwald defending Muggles from dark wizards.

Yes, it had been a productive day.

If Albus was right about why Kingsley had felt the need to urgently meet with Albus, then hopefully they would have some busy, productive times ahead of them.

Just as Gellert was beginning to say something else, doubtless some complaint about his boredom, the front door opened.

Kingsley's footsteps preceded him down the hall.

"Please," Albus said quietly, "Gellert, please try to be civil."

Gellert rolled his eyes.

A moment later, Kingsley entered the room.

He hesitated at the doorway for a moment, his attention on Gellert.

Then he walked in, moving with none of his usual calm grace.

"Good evening," Gellert called.

Kingsley nodded to him as he took his seat, his lips pursed.

"Can I talk to you alone, Albus?" He asked, his gaze flickering to Gellert before returning to Albus' eyes.

"What's the matter? Don't you trust me?"

"Of course," Albus replied. "Gellert, if you will step outside for a moment."

For a moment, Albus was sure his friend would argue.

He didn't, instead standing again and striding over to the door.

"Maybe I will find something of interest in that library after all."

Albus ignored him, just as Kingsley did.

"Jeremy gave me this," Kingsley said, and passed Albus a small folded note he'd pulled from one of his pockets. "I didn't read it; in case you're wondering."

"I would never accuse you of spying," Albus said softly. "Thank you."

_Dumbledore, _it said. _Found Dennis Bishop. He's in Sunny Acres, a retirement home in London. He's got advanced dementia, so good luck getting any information out of him. _

_The girl moved to America. I don't know anything else yet. _

_J_

Albus' lips tugged themselves into a smile. It would very likely lead nowhere, but a lead was still a lead.

For a while Kingsley said nothing, only sat there and stared at his clasped hands.

Albus did not break the silence. There was clearly something on Kingsley's mind, and it was better to give him the chance to work out what it was he wanted to say.

Not to mention that letting one stew in their juices was a tactic Albus had found particularly effective.

"Why do you trust him?" Kingsley eventually asked, still staring fixedly ahead of him, as he had since Albus had taken Jeremy's note.

"I have told you that you do not need to trust him. I only ask that you trust me."

"That's a lot to ask right now," Kingsley said, raising his head. "Albus, how can I trust you when you're working with a man responsible for more death than You Know Who? How can I trust you when you sound nothing like the man I've known and respected for years?"

Albus considered the question carefully, giving it the thought it deserved.

It was possible that the Elder Wand had manipulated him more subtly then he had thought, using his old dreams and repressed rage to twist him. It was possible that spending time with Gellert was returning him to the reckless, careless, irresponsible mindset of his youth. It was possible that he had truly lost his mind, as the Ministry had claimed, and was acting on insane urges.

There were many possibilities, but Albus thought none of them likely.

"Have I truly changed? Am I not simply taking a more active role in ensuring the future I have always dreamt of?"

Kingsley ran a trembling hand over his scalp, his earrings jingling with the motion.

"I don't know. Albus, I just don't know. The route you're taking-you'd be asking me to fight Aurors. I didn't sign on to be a part of a revolution."

"No. You signed on to help me eradicate Voldemort and all he stands for. And that, Kingsley, is precisely what I plan to do."

"Is it? Is that all you want to do? Is it really?"

"It is. I assure you-"

"But that's exactly what I'm saying," Kingsley interrupted, "I don't know if I can trust you!"

"By definition, I cannot tell you anything to change your mind."

Kingsley looked dismayed.

"I just-I need to think, Albus. You're the best man I've ever known, and you know how many times I've trusted you with my life. But this-isn't you, Albus."

Kingsley's slow, sad statement broke Albus' heart.

But what was an old man's heart worth when weighed against the lives of thousands? What did it matter if history branded Albus a monster, so long as he saved them all from Voldemort and the system that had birthed him?

"Maybe you never knew me as well as you believed."

"Maybe not," Kingsley murmured, shaking his head. "Maybe not."

"I respect and admire you, my friend," Albus said, feeling tired beyond reason, Kingsley's expression sapping the very life from his bones. "And I trust that you will do the right thing. You have the right to follow your conscience. I hope you truly make use of it."

Kingsley stood up and stretched out a hand. After a moment, Albus shook it.

"I won't fight you, no matter what," Kingsley said. "But I don't know if I can stand beside you."

"I understand," Albus said, and he did. He had caught his followers, his friends and loved ones, in a terrible vice, forced them to make an impossible choice. "Try and calm Alastor down, please."

Kingsley gave an odd, jerking nod, and walked out of the room.

With tears in his eyes, Albus watched him go.

He was still standing there and looking at the door when Gellert walked into the room.

"I'm sorry," he said, his frail, veiny hand falling onto Albus' shoulder. "It hurts. I know it does. But you're doing the right thing."

The terrible burden of the horrific choices he was faced with hovered over him, a dark wave about to crash.

His composure wavered, his vision blurring for a moment.

Gellert seized him in a tight embrace, his brittle chest fluttering with every breath against Albus in a savage mockery of their time together, all those decades in the past.

"You are making the right choice. Voldemort must be destroyed, and everyone who brought him to power must fall along with him."

"I know."


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

With a name like "Sunny Acres," Albus was expecting the retirement home to be a pleasant place for one to spend the sunset of their life.

His mind had conjured up the image of a palatial building surrounded by rolling lawns, with copses of oak trees and birds flitting from one feeder to another. Perhaps there would be butterflies, their gossamer wings making the air dance. There would be streams running through the gardens, with little ivy-trellised bridges crossing them.

Once again, he was proven entirely wrong. Sunny Acres was a large squat building, its peeling paint a horrifying urine-yellow. There _was _a small garden, but it looked more suitable for an ant adventure than for an elderly person to relax and commune with nature.

He sighed, glancing at Gellert for a moment, all but certain that his friend would not miss the opportunity to point out how muggles clearly need the hands of Wizards to guide them.

Gellert said nothing. He was staring at the building with a slight frown, and he appeared to be calm.

Albus, however, could see the storm raging beneath the surface.

They'd had another argument that morning, precipitated by the previous evening's meeting with Kingsley. The Ministry, Gellert claimed, was certain to declare Albus an enemy at any moment. If he wanted to win, he would need to attack before the Ministry had the chance.

There was undoubtedly some truth to his claims. It seemed very likely that the Ministry would break away from him, in truth as well as ideology.

And yet, Albus was reluctant to act against them. It would be impossible to ensure the safety of innocents in such a confrontation. While he was willing, perhaps, to kill Death Eaters out of hand, he would not be so flippant toward Aurors, who, though misguided, wished to make Britain safer.

He could not be flippant toward them, not if he wished to tell himself that he was still the moral man he'd been for so long.

Well, he had set his mind and would not be changing his opinion, regardless of how much Gellert wheedled. Fighting the Ministry, unless they put him in a position where he had no other choice, would be crossing a line.

_'As if you haven't crossed so many already.' _

His left hand stroked his beard absently, his right wrapped around the wand in his pocket, his eyes still locked on the building before him.

Yes, he had crossed lines. Freeing Gellert, attacking the Malfoys, using fear to influence the government: he had crossed many lines in a very short period. Nevertheless, with the exception of what he had done to the Malfoys, he did not truly regret anything he had done.

He could not. If he allowed his guilt and morals to bog him down, he would never succeed in vanquishing Voldemort and everything would have been for nought.

Even if he did destroy Voldemort, unless he changed the fabric of the Wizarding World, there'd be a new Voldemort in just a paltry few decades.

No, the Wizarding World needed to be reformed. Regardless, Voldemort needed to be destroyed before any of Albus' hopes could be realized.

And thus, Albus was here, standing before a decrepit old age home. He was, in fact, grasping at straws in an attempt to push off having to invade Gringotts. That certainly was not going to be an enjoyable experience.

As if he were hearing Albus' thoughts, Gellert chose that moment to speak.

"Do you really believe that we're going to find something of value _here_?"

"As I have already explained, I believe the cave where he tormented those poor Muggles would hold great significance for Voldemort. As far as I can tell, this was the first time he truly demonstrated his superiority over them."

"You said that he had already been terrorising them in his orphanage. He murdered that boy's rabbit, did he not? Positively diabolical of him."

"I'm glad you were paying attention," Albus said, "but you are forgetting something rather important. While at the orphanage, he was not truly in control. He may have exhibited his abilities, but he was still under the thumb of _Muggles. _Near as I can tell, the first time he had anyone entirely in his power was the cave."

"Yes, but-"

"Besides, do you really think, for a moment, that he would hide a piece of his soul in the place he so desperately hated and wished to escape? No, the cave is a far more likely location."

"You're desperate," Gellert said bluntly, "I tell you; we capture one of his most trusted, that's how we'll find another. Didn't we already find one that way?"

"Indeed, we did, and you agreed with me that it would be best to leave Gringotts alone for the moment."

A car honked at them as it drove past, the passenger's shout lost in the wind.

From the tone, however, it seemed humorous. Perhaps they had actually appreciated Albus' choice of clothing. He and Gellert were once again wearing their Muggle outfits: his suit was velvety silver and seemed to change colour in the sun, while Gellert's was a frankly boring dark purple.

It really was a terrible shame that people were such conformists when it came to their clothing.

"Of Voldemort's most trusted followers," Albus said, "only Bellatrix still lives. We already know that she was entrusted with a Horcrux, just as Lucius Malfoy was. Severus has confirmed what I already suspected; these were the most trusted Death Eaters Voldemorthad since his rise to power all those years ago. Perhaps Barty Crouch Junior could be listed among them, but he too has passed beyond our reach. Besides, I highly doubt Voldemort would have trusted more than two of his Horcruxes to his followers. Even two is two more than I would have suspected."

"You do realize that the dead are not beyond our grasp, don't you?"

"Of course, I do," Albus replied with a nod. "And we may soon need to summon the spirit of Evan Rosier. But there are only two Horcruxes whose locations are unknown: the one which I believe to be in Hogwarts, and the one which I believe we will find shortly."

"Well then, shall we enter? Or are you afraid of losing your mind within the senile mess we shall find?"

Steeling himself, Albus eyed the decrepit building and nodded again.

Thankfully, the inside of the nursing home was in better shape. It looked rather comfortable, in fact. Lovely paintings decorated the wall, and colourful fish swam lazily in large tanks.

The people he saw seemed far happier than the exterior would have led him to believe. There were many of the home's residents in the lobby; playing chess, or struggling with crosswords, or simply sitting and chatting.

Their laughter was uplifting, though it pained Albus to see people who were certainly younger than him looking so ancient and worn.

It was always a shock when he considered how poorly muggles aged.

It was easy enough to find Mr Bishop's room; they came across a cheerful-looking staff member whose name tag identified him as Fred Graham, and he was happy to point them in the right direction with nary a question, especially after being hit with Albus' Confundus.

"Good luck with him," Fred said as they arrived at the door to room 237. "His caretaker had to go back to Dublin for a family emergency, and she's the only one who can get him to talk. Hell, he's barely even let the rest of us clean his flat."

"Thank you," Albus said brightly. "You've been most helpful. Have a wonderful rest of your day."

A look of confusion flickered across Fred's sunny face for a moment, a frown appearing and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

"You as well," he said. "I'm sure Mr Bishop will appreciate that...friends of his have come to visit."

The scene that greeted them was rather depressing, to put it mildly.

From what Albus could see, the apartment was bare, with only a token picture of a forest hanging on the wall. Dirty plates and glasses were piled up in the sink. The buzzing of flies and humming of the refrigerator filled the small kitchenette, emanating into the rest of the flat and burrowing into Albus' ears.

Dennis Bishop was in the lounge. His wheelchair had been placed next to the couch, and in it, he looked remarkably like a mummified body Albus had seen on his last trip to Peru.

His skin was the colour of old parchment. It drooped off of his hands, portraying a strong man gone to waste. He was draped in a fraying tartan blanket despite the warmth of the day, and his face seemed as empty of thought as his head was of hair. A thick line of spit draped out of his mouth to a small pool on his chin.

Looking at him, it was very difficult for Albus to believe that he was nearly double this man's age.

Dennis had been placed directly in front of a television set. If he was paying attention, he was watching an extraordinarily handsome man complaining to a likewise absurdly beautiful woman about her infidelity.

Gellert's wand appeared for an instant in the corner of Albus' vision: the television went black as a plume of smoke erupted from it.

"Was that really necessary?"

"The inanity bothered me," Gellert said.

"And you couldn't have simply turned it off?"

"No. Don't pretend this man will ever have a need for it. Perhaps now, his 'caretaker' will actually be forced to pay attention to him."

"Be that as it may-"

"Oh, shut up, Albus. Focus on your stupidly dangerous task, and on trying not to get lost in a vegetable's mind."

Albus bit down on the sharp retort that tried to make itself heard and smoothed his face, washing away all emotion.

Though the point could have been made in a slightly...kinder way, Gellert was entirely correct.

Using the Mind Arts on people with serious mental or intellectual issues was one of the riskiest propositions Albus could imagine. There was a very good reason that Legilimency or the like had never been sanctioned for the treatment of people like the poor Longbottoms. No Legilimens would agree to face the very real possibility of having their mind destroyed by the person they were trying to save.

His knees cracked as he knelt, locking his eyes with those of Dennis Bishop.

"Do not disturb me," he warned.

"Do you think me a fool?"

Albus returned to ignoring his partner, to ignoring everything except the pair of cataract-clouded brown eyes before him.

For the next ten minutes, he didn't move a muscle: he stayed there, not even blinking, cementing his will and emptying his mind of all thought but the need to discover the location of the place Tom Riddle had once taken this man, a lifetime ago.

Was that a hint of awareness, lurking behind the senility? Was there a shadow of the man Dennis Bishop had once been or was it just a trick of the light making his eyes look alive?

Whether it was a sign of a functional mind or not, Albus finally felt ready.

He raised his wand, for once glad that he held a totem of such wondrous power. For an endeavour such as he was undertaking, he would happily accept the extra power it offered.

"Legilimens!"

Albus had performed Legilimency on many, many people over the years. None of his past experiences had prepared him for Dennis Bishop's mind.

Usually, a person's mind worked in a relatively linear, sensible fashion. When using Legilimency, one could see the train of thought, could trace the connections being made that pulled up specific memories. It was a process of disconnecting from one's own mind and viewing the thought process of another, of seeing the associations being made and the thoughts being created. Through an assertion of will, specific memories could be called up, enabling a Legilimens to ascertain what had occurred.

At least, they could if the mind in question was not a haven of chaos.

A film of black coated his vision. This was no ordinary darkness, no mere absence of light. This was the oppressive icy-cold of the void, thick and heavy, weighty as a boulder.

He shouted into the darkness, roaring out a wordless command that was nothing more than an extension of his will.

_'Tom Riddle. I need to see your memories of Tom Riddle.' _

A blindingly bright light exploded, smashing Albus off of his metaphorical footing.

A thousand memories attacked him, swooping over and _into _him like a pack of angry birds.

They ran over him, snatches of jumbled and confusing scenes appearing and consuming him for a fraction of a second each before disappearing.

It was a sunny day, the sound of children playing loud in Albus' ears. He was standing in a park, watching as a far younger Dennis Bishop leaned over on his picnic blanket and kissed a beautiful woman. As the memory began, her face twisted into a shapeless void and a patch of darkness appeared in her chest and began to spread. The memory crumpled at the edges, the children's voices becoming an indecipherable buzzing sound. Then it tore apart like a wet tissue, fragments of it flying in all directions like shattered glass.

Before Albus could do anything, another scene from Dennis' life enveloped him.

He was standing in a cubicle. Dennis was seated at a desk just in front of him, writing something.

"Hey, Bishop."

"Yes, Martin?"

The newcomer was leaning against the entrance to what was obviously Dennis' office, a coffee mug clutched in his hand.

"Are you coming to the pub tonight?"

Something strange happened to Martin's voice in the middle of the sentence. It deepened and slowed, growing louder as it morphed into an earthshaking growl.

As with the last one, the memory suddenly paused, black spots appearing and spreading, that unbearable darkness once more taking over.

Memory after memory took Albus into their fold, invariably falling apart mere moments after their beginning. He heard snatches of voices, saw flashes of faces, all of them melding into one another and forming an amorphous mess.

He was tugged through Dennis' life, only seeing bits and pieces of scenes as they unfolded. None of them lasted long enough for him to understand their purpose, or even who the people in them were.

He felt Dennis' pain at these memories. The anguish burned as he saw Dennis trying, trying so hard and failing to remember the names of his friends and loved ones.

And as suddenly as they had come, the memories vanished, leaving nothing but the incredible darkness of an empty mind.

Albus reeled, tears prickling in his distant eyes.

Suddenly, the darkness changed. Nothing was visibly different, but it suddenly felt...warm. Warm and welcoming, comfortable and entrancing.

How could he have thought it was cold? It was lovely, with its tendrils reaching out and stroking up against his own thoughts.

_'I was looking for something,' _he thought, but the desperate need that had so recently driven him was gone. _'It was important.' _

But what was it?

_'Tom Riddle.' _

Terrible fear seized him, the Elder Wand nearly falling from his suddenly-trembling fingers.

He had almost lost himself. Just a few more seconds, and he'd have remained there forever, becoming as much a shell as Dennis himself was. His stomach roiled, the desire to vomit rising.

In an instant, he gathered up all his strength, forging a hammer from his will and spirit.

_'SHOW ME TOM RIDDLE! SHOW ME WHERE HE TOOK YOU!'_

The blackness fled from before him.

Again, a myriad memories attacked, but Albus paid them no need.

Bodiless, he strode forward, mashing aside the irrelevant remembrances as they came.

And then-

He was on a rickety bus, standing in the aisle. A young boy was whispering something to the girl on the seat next to him.

"Dennis!" She said, her shocked expression matching her voice perfectly. "You wouldn't be so mean to him today! Come on, we're going to the seaside, just enjoy it."

Dennis coughed, twisting around in his seat and glancing at the boy in the back row.

The boy to whom Albus had once given a Hogwarts letter.

"He's not normal," Dennis hissed, a scowl appearing on his chubby face as he turned back to his friend. "He's not-"

The memory began to shake, the light slowly draining from it.

_'No,' _Albus thought desperately, _'No, this is it-' _

The very air rent itself in two, nothingness seeking through the crack.

_'NO!' _

He bore down, overpowering Dennis' mind, forcing the memory to go on.

And then he heard it. The voice of the matron, Mrs Cole, as she made an announcement.

"We'll be visiting what is known as the Jurassic Coast. Specifically, we'll be-"

The memory collapsed.

He pushed with everything he had, demanding more.

He had been so close. There had to be more, another memory, _something. _

_'WHERE DID TOM RIDDLE TAKE YOU?!' _

Everything was shaking, lights dancing before his eyes. He felt Dennis' poor, weakened spirit crashing up against him, trying in vain to force him out of his head.

He would not allow that to happen. Painful as it obviously was for Dennis to revisit those memories, Albus _needed_ them.

He bore down, pulling up reserves of will he didn't know he had and launching them against Dennis' attempted defence.

Dennis' will lasted another fraction of a second before vanishing with a sickening _ripping _sensation.

Flashes of locations shot before his eyes: he saw cliffs, a beach, children running into the ocean with wild abandon.

The darkness was closing in again, the memories starting to pull away from him.

But he needed more. He pushed on, moving through Dennis' memories as if he were swimming through molasses.

A cliff appeared; a cave entrance just barely visible near its foot.

And then he was abruptly thrust from Dennis' mind, torn away as if seized by a wild hippogriff.

Nearly a minute passed before Albus realized that he was back in his own body. He was lying on his back, and his face felt extremely warm. He was also quite sure his head had never hurt as badly as it did right then.

His vision was cloudy: the only thing he could make out was a dark shape hovering in front of him.

"Albus! Can you see me? Can you hear me? Are you here?!"

"One moment," he murmured, closing his eyes, "just one moment, please."

When he opened them again, he could see clearly.

Gellert looked like he had aged ten years in the last few minutes.

"You stupid, arrogant old fool!"

Albus brushed his fingers against the warm wetness on his face. When he looked at them, his suspicions were confirmed.

His nose was bleeding, and he'd bit his lip enough for there to be another source of blood.

"Please, help me up."

Grumbling and cursing to himself, Gellert did so, his hand squeezing around Albus'.

"Had I not pulled you out of there-"

"I would have lost myself."

"And that would have been even worse than what happened to him," Gellert hissed, his cheeks going white. "Look!"

Albus followed Gellert's outstretched hand, and his heart skipped a beat.

Dennis Bishop was clearly dead. Blood was caked across his face and chin from where it had apparently _erupted _from his nose and mouth. Thick, dark trails leaked from his ears. The whites of his eyes had gone a dark purple.

"I killed him. I-"

"Don't start," Gellert snarled, whirling around and thrusting a pencil-thin finger in Albus' face. "You almost met his fate! Did you at least find what you were searching for?"

Albus tore his attention from Dennis' sightless, accusing eyes and thrust the guilt away.

He'd have time to dwell on it later.

"I found something," he whispered. "But...I must rest."

Albus had barely finished talking before it became apparent that he would not get the chance to rest, at least not immediately.

Severus' Patronus appeared, forming into a doe the instant it entered the room.

As always, the sight of it brought intense sadness.

"I need to meet with you, urgently." It said, Severus' voice sounding more like Minerva's than Lucius', a sure sign of stress. "If you can bear to spare me the time. I will be at Grimmauld Place in half an hour."

"Albus," Gellert said immediately, speaking before the Patronus had even begun to dissipate. "You need to rest. You could have died-"

"If Severus has urgent information to impart, I need to hear it."

"Then send me!"

Albus shook his head, tired beyond description.

"Not for Severus. Not yet."

"Albus-"

Albus looked back at Dennis' corpse, nausea and terrible heartache flooding him once more.

He'd died for no reason other than Albus' need for information. It may have been a release for him from the torment of his constant forgetting, but that didn't stop Albus' stomach from twisting.

The worst part was, he knew he would do it again if need be.

"Not yet, Gellert. Soon, but not yet. I do not wish to be alone right now."

A sneer pulled at Gellert's lips, but then his face softened.

"Fine. On your head be it."

And though his tone was harsh, he squeezed Albus' hand again.

* * *

He raised the can to his lips, the cold soda flooding his throat.

Merlin, he wished he could have something stronger, if only to make the information Aberforth had given him seem slightly less ominous.

Unfortunately, the full moon was only a few nights away, and bitter experience had taught Remus that drinking so close to it was a bad idea.

He could already feel the precursors to the coming change: his heartbeat was up and he felt itchy all over, and the sharpened lights and scents around him were stabbing into his brain.

He'd have a migraine in an hour, sooner if he didn't stop thinking about what Aberforth had told him.

After dropping Harry off with McGonagall, Remus had returned to the Hog's Head, confused and determined to find out what Aberforth had been talking about.

It hadn't taken long for Aberforth to spill the beans. Remus was quite sure that if not for the fact that Aberforth had never spoken about it before, it would have been a far more onerous task. He'd barely spent a few minutes cajoling before Aberforth launched into the whole sad tale.

Frankly, Remus half-wished he hadn't returned to the Hog's Head. He'd know far less, but at least his mind would be calmer.

He drained the can and twisted slightly, tossing it into the rubbish bin beside the bench.

The park he and Kingsley had agreed on for their meeting was almost completely empty. The only other person Remus could see was a young man walking his dog under the setting sun.

A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, the scent of honeysuckle wafting over him.

For a moment, he felt almost peaceful, but then his thoughts returned.

If anyone besides Aberforth had told him about Dumbledore's history with Grindelwald, Remus would have laughed in their face.

But it hadn't been anyone else. It had been Aberforth to tell him, choking up and crying a bit as he did so.

And it made horrible sense. They'd all been wondering how Albus had come to trust Grindelwald, but even their wildest theories hadn't come close to this.

To know that Albus and Grindelwald had been lovers was one thing, but to know that Albus had actively helped Grindelwald plan for world domination was entirely a different story.

And to know that this had led to Albus' sister's death and that Albus had somehow decided to go back to Grindelwald…

Well, that was simply mind-boggling.

From the first Order meeting after Albus had freed Grindelwald, Remus had been unnerved by the rhetoric being spouted. He'd always been interested in history and thus had been perfectly placed to recognize what Albus was saying as being all too similar to the ideas Grindelwald had espoused. Now, to find out that Albus had actually helped _create _that ideology in the first place, well, it answered a few of his questions.

And absolutely terrified him.

Before hearing Aberforth's tale, Remus had been on edge, unsure if staying on Dumbledore's side was the moral decision. In truth, he owed far too much to Dumbledore to simply walk away from him. If Dumbledore had been more like his predecessors, Remus would never have been allowed to go to Hogwarts. If not for Dumbledore's influence, he would never have found employment at all, even if the jobs he did get were usually dirty and short-lasting.

Then Dumbledore himself had hired him, giving Remus the chance to teach as he'd always wanted to.

How could Remus just abandon him, even if he thought what Albus was doing was wrong?

He'd been faced with an impossible choice, and then he'd met Aberforth.

Now, his choice had been made for him, bringing cold disillusion with it.

He could have accepted, maybe, that Dumbledore made horrific mistakes in his youth. He could have reconciled the image of the kind, caring mentor he knew with that of a brilliant teenager who realized too late that he was starting to travel a terrible road.

But for Dumbledore to return to Grindelwald, to happily re-tread the path he'd abandoned when his sister had been killed, that Remus could not bear.

Frankly, it enraged him. He realized, of course, that he had no right to feel as if Albus had betrayed and lied to him.

And yet, he still felt it.

The only real question which remained was whether he was brave enough to act on his decision, or whether he would follow his old pattern of running from his problems.

It would be easier to run, far easier. He wouldn't have to face Tonks, wouldn't have to face Sirius. Tonks would be furious if he joined the ministry, grieving as she was, but Sirius would be worse; Sirius would view it as a worse betrayal than anything Remus had ever done.

Tonks would certainly not even think about abandoning Albus, not after what Bellatrix had done. As for Sirius...

There'd always been a wildness to Sirius, a bloodlust lurking deep beneath the surface. Back in Hogwarts, the pranks and tricks which Sirius played were always more likely to lead to serious injury than anything Remus, James, or Peter thought of. There was the time he'd trapped Macnair in a closet with a Boggart, the time he'd sabotaged Dolohov's potions, and, of course, the time he'd tried to lead Snape to his death.

No, Sirius was already too inflamed by Grindelwald's presence and the promise of battles to come. Not to mention that Albus was more interested in Harry's safety than the Ministry. Sirius, Remus was quite sure, would be more than happy to die for Harry, if only to leave one part of James still alive.

There was no chance of either Sirius or Tonks going with Remus. Whatever he chose, he would be doing it alone.

Alone, as he had been for so many years.

He could do it, he knew. He could run away, make his way to his cousin in Iceland, and live out the rest of his life in obscurity, always debating if he'd made the wrong choice.

Or he could stay and fight. He could continue his work with the werewolves, he could be an extra wand to aid the Ministry.

He could fight his friends, go to war against people he loved.

But would he even be achieving anything?

Well, that depended, at least in part, on what Kingsley had to say.

The sun had completely set by the time Kingsley arrived, the last light having long faded from the horizon.

The crunching of leaves preceded his arrival, but Remus had already gotten a whiff of his aftershave, just sharp enough to make him want to be sick.

Sometimes, he really wanted to execute Greyback.

Kingsley was wearing his Muggle garb. Remus had to admit, he pulled off a dark suit better than most Muggles, let alone the wizards who would try to put their hands through the trouser legs.

Kingsley dropped into the bench with a muted grunt.

"Good evening," he said.

From the corner of his eye, Remus saw Kingsley's hand casually drifting into his pocket.

There was no point in beating around the bush. Kingsley was on his guard, no doubt half-expecting Remus to attack.

"Sirius says you've left the Order."

"Dumbledore knows I have as well," Kingsley said. He smiled innocently and scratched his scalp, giving the impression of harmlessness. Remus knew better than to fall for that.

"He didn't seem too bothered about it, in fact. Are you going to try and convince me that I made the wrong decision?"

Remus couldn't hold it in any longer. He needed to explain, to tell _someone_, someone he considered a friend, what he'd heard.

"I bumped into Aberforth yesterday. He had a lot to say."

"Did he, now?"

"They knew each other, Kingsley! Back before Grindelwald started conquering, they knew each other! Hell, they were planning on taking over together!"

Remus halted for a moment, surprised at the force with which the words have left him. He'd been damn near shouting.

But once he'd started talking, he found he couldn't stop. As he spoke, Kingsley's face shifted through a wide variety of expressions: from shock to horror, grim understanding to determination.

Remus spoke himself hoarse, interrupting only to conjure a glass and fill it with water.

By the time he was done, Kingsley's hand had left his pocket.

"I can't stay with him," Remus said, hating the plaintive note in his voice. "Even...even if Sirius and Tonks do, I can't, not now that I know this."

Kingsley rested his elbow on his knee and rubbed his chin, eyes distant.

"I thought-I could carry on what I'm doing with the werewolves, but unless the Ministry is willing to make real promises-"

"Unlikely," Kingsley interrupted as he straightened up and adjusted his tie. "You didn't hear this from me, but Moody convinced Scrimgeour and Amelia Bones. They've got their hands full trying to gather up enough Wizengamot support. If they were to try and convince those codgers to vote for werewolf rights, they'd lose any support they have."

Remus slumped, his head falling into his hands.

That was it. The one possibility he had of doing anything other than fighting had been shot down, ground beneath the heels of politicians with more Galleons than sense.

"What do they need that support for?"

Kingsley shifted in his seat and glanced around.

"Hiring mercenaries," he said, "Making deals with the goblins to shut down Death Eater vaults. Drafting people to the Hit-Wizards. None of those can be done without Wizengamot support."

"Fuck."

Nodding, Kingsley put a hand on Remus' shoulder.

"If I were you," he said, "I'd get out of Britain. You're already under suspicion for being part of the Order, and for being a known werewolf. Unless you're willing to fight…"

Kingsley trailed off, clearly sensing Remus' feelings on the matter.

Remus' hands balled themselves into fists. His head was pounding now.

Either fight his friends or run away with his tail between his legs.

Just another horrific situation the universe deemed fair to thrust onto his shoulders.

"Maybe I'll have to," he said, standing up and stretching his legs. "What will you do?"

"Whatever I have to."

* * *

By all appearances, Severus was not pleased with being kept waiting.

Of course, he kept his true feelings hidden deep beneath the surface, only the flaring of his nostrils and absolutely minuscule white spots in his cheeks betraying him.

Albus often thought that Severus would be a far happier man if he didn't bottle up his emotions so much. If he was feeling slightly more himself, he would needle Severus into a furious explosion, giving him the chance to vent his frustrations and aimless, ever-present rage at someone who was not an innocent child under his care.

Unfortunately, Albus was most definitely not feeling his usual self.

His legs were screaming, and his temples felt as if they would burst at any moment. This merely exacerbated the odd sensation he was experiencing: his thoughts seemed to be crossing a vast ocean to travel from one point to another as opposed to the usual flashes of insight he had.

Thankfully, his nosebleed had stopped.

It had taken them longer than expected to leave Sunny Acres and travel to Grimmauld Place. Albus had been determined to ensure that Dennis' body was not left too long, and since he forbade Gellert from using the Imperius, it took more time than it could have, especially once they had to cast all the Memory Charms.

Even so, they were still early for their meeting. Severus had said half an hour, and it had only been fifteen minutes since his Patronus' arrival.

Nevertheless, Severus was displeased.

They found him sitting in the lounge, a familiar sneer plastered on his face as he read some book, doubtless 'borrowed' from the Black family's library.

"I'm glad you saw fit to meet me," Severus said, his sneer morphing into the scowl he usually donned for Albus. "It's not as if I'm risking my life for you or something equally idiotic."

Gellert chuckled. Before he could say anything to ignite Severus, Albus shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry to have kept you," Albus said.

A quick glance revealed that his preferred armchair had been cleaned recently. He would have to make sure to thank Kreacher for that.

He sank into it, thighs sighing in relief, and gestured for Severus and Gellert to mimic him.

Gellert took to the couch and lay on his back, scuffing the cushions with his boots.

Severus, it seemed, was more agitated than Albus had originally thought. In lieu of sitting, he began to pace, potion-stained fingers rubbing his forehead.

"I was explicitly forbidden to tell you any of this," he spat. "If I know you, you will act on this information in a way that will immediately make it clear I told you."

"Have I ever done so, Severus? Has he ever had an inkling that you are telling me anything against his will?"

Severus' scowl deepened, his jaws beginning to grind together.

"Will you sit down already?" Gellert asked, "Or at least stop pacing. You're giving me vertigo."

Severus halted, his shoulders stiffening. Then he sighed deeply and sat.

"He has become far more paranoid, as he was in the last days of the war. He has begun limiting our communication with one another, forbidding us to speak of missions we have been assigned. Similarly, he has become far vaguer about his plans."

"So, what you are saying is that you are useless."

Severus did not rise to Gellert's bait, thankfully.

"Still," Severus continued, his nostrils flaring wider. "It is clear that he is planning something for this weekend. Albus...he asked if it is a Hogsmeade weekend, and if there truly will be Aurors present. And he is overly knowledgeable about goings-on in the castle."

"Students?" Albus asked quietly.

Severus nodded, a grim look replacing his scowl for a moment.

"Yes. Draco Malfoy is not at school, obviously, but he is in contact with his friends, many of whom are themselves related to Death Eaters. Draco himself has been pulled into the fold. And... many of the other Slytherin students are being actively recruited."

"Did he give any hint of his plans for Hogsmeade?"

Greasy hair waved wildly as Severus shook his head.

Of course, it was eminently clear that Voldemort would not simply murder children willy-nilly. Not, to be sure, because he had any moral compunctions preventing him from doing so. Rather, he was clever enough to understand that he could only push people so far. There was a fine line between intimidating someone and forcing them to revolt, and Voldemort would walk that line as carefully as he could.

"There is more. He has plans that involve a giant, and on the full moon, there will be a series of werewolf attacks. I know no more specifics."

Albus nodded, almost too tired to think it over. He was reasonably certain that Voldemort would use the giants on the Hogsmeade weekend, if only to give Albus, and the Ministry, more situations to deal with at once.

"Is there anything else?"

"Because giants and endangered schoolchildren are not enough for one time," remarked Gellert.

"He has someone in the Aurors," Severus said slowly. "Or perhaps the Hit-Wizards. Whoever they are, they were meant to modify the memories of those people in Moulton. They did not manage; you'll be pleased to know."

"I assume he wished then to remember Gellert and I being the ones to attack?"

"Obviously."

"Indeed. When he next asks, tell him that we are busy building up a network of supporters. Tell him we have numerous spies in the Ministry and that you do not know their identities. And tell him that we have made plans for the eventuality that the Ministry moves against us."

Albus pushed against the chair's arms and rose.

"Thank you, Severus. I cannot exaggerate the importance-"

"Wait."

"As long as you wish," Albus said, nodding at Severus. "Please, go on."

"There...may be something I can do to entrench myself in his good graces."

Albus found himself frowning slightly at Severus' apprehension.

"If I were to _encourage_ those Slytherins who he is already recruiting...If I were to push them closer to his service...He has always shown the most favour to those who brought others to him."

Albus' heart constricted, sudden guilt barraging him.

Dare he do it? Dare he encourage children to join the enemy, to kill their joy and youthful innocence for no reason other than to secure a spy? Dare he add this to his litany of sins?

And, did he dare not?

He closed his eyes and swallowed heavily, shunting the pain to a corner of his mind where it could not bother him.

"Do not force any of them," he said. "And make sure that you are only dealing with those who are already being recruited, and who you think are likely to join him even without your efforts."

"And what will you do?" Severus replied, his voice a silken blade.

"I will plan my next move."

Severus' expression forced a smile onto Albus' face, even despite the weight of the order he had just given.

"Voldemort used a chess analogy when talking with you the other day, correct?"

Severus nodded, his scowl making a reappearance.

"I find it rather ironic," he said, "that he betrays a Muggle mindset in this respect."

Gellert smiled, but Severus just rolled his eyes, a nerve in his cheek jumping. "Would you mind explaining what exactly you are talking about?"

"Gladly." Albus looked down his nose at the man. "Tell me, Severus, what is the only difference between Wizarding and Muggle chess?"

"In wizarding chess, the pieces have been enchanted with-"

"No." Albus raised his finger. "In wizarding chess... the pieces are alive."


End file.
